Shatterpoint: Architects
by Arcadia Sterling
Summary: It's a brave new world out there. A look into the lives and losses of the Metropolis P.D. Special Crimes Unit as they struggle to adapt to a changing Metropolis. Pseudo-sequel.
1. Making Do

Welcome to Architects! I hope you old readers have been looking forward to this. If you're a new reader, it is not technically necessary to read all of the previous story, Crucible. That doesn't mean you shouldn't, but Architects is a semi stand-alone so you can get away with it.

As I have previously stated, this is something a world-building story. It starts to flesh out some of the elements introduced in Crucible's second half and helps to lay the foundation for many of the upcoming stories. Since it focuses on the Metropolis PD Special Crimes Unit, Superman is more of a guest character than a main. Architects is me turning the spotlight on the characters who might tend to get a little passed over in the Superman-centric stories.

Reviews and comments are wildly encouraged. I can't stress this enough. If you like the story, say something. If you have a question, ask it. I will respond. No one's time is getting wasted here. Reviews make the world go 'round and honestly, they keep me motivated to write. plz review i just hit writer's block on flash story. i think i'm in the doldrums chapters cuz they are kicking my ass big time. it's been a really unproductive month

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 **Shatterpoint: Architects**

Chapter One: Making Do

The Metropolis P.D. Special Crimes Unit handled "the weird stuff". Anything that came down the pipe tagged Code Veitch, which meant "So weird I won't pretend that I know how to describe it". According to their manifesto, Code Veitch meant anything that was alien, supernatural, or super-human. A special crimes unit was specifically tasked with bringing the rogue elements of those groups under control.

The thing was, any and all Special Crimes Units across the United States had been police-level extensions of the Department of Extranormal Operations, as to avoid any legal SNAFUs regarding jurisdiction. When the manifesto had been written, it was the early sixties, not too long before Jay Garrick the Flash had faced off against his long-time nemesis for the very first time. Back when meta-powers and superheroes were all over the news. When the Agency had overseen the likes of the DEO and its sister organization, the Department of Metahuman Affairs. Back when there existed superhero teams like the Freedom Fighters and Shadowpact and Infinity Inc. Back when death lasers and doomsday devices were built with such frequency that people shrugged instead of panicked, and villians spent so long monologuing their evil plans they barely noticed when the hero dismantled the doomsday machine and summoned the police.

 _Before_ a revolution had swept across the coastal and mountain states, bringing a swift end to the Age of Superheroes and the wide acceptance of meta-powers.

Many special crime units had been disbanded with the dissolution of the DEO, but the Metropolis branch had been absorbed into the general police force. A precautionary, just-in-case measure.

Just in case metahumans made a resurgence and were itching for payback.

Four months ago, the entirety of the SCU (just eleven people at the time) would have giggled manically at the idea that metahumans would appear in their city. This was Metropolis and Metropolis was _normal_.

They weren't Central or Keystone City, both of which had been subjected to a great amount of bizarreness over the four decades during which the Flash had operated as one of the most prominent heroes of the late twentieth century. Super-speedy speedsters had only been one part of the long history of the Gem Cities' metahumans. On that note, Keystone City had literally vanished off the face of the planet for a few days only to be discovered behind some kind of forcefield that had kept it out of sync with the rest of reality (the Flash looked back on those days with some embarassment, because even despite the shock-factor, the press had still had a field-day with how the Flash had managed to misplace his entire home city).

They were not like Star City, which had taken a beating from the Scare back in the day and had recently begun to experience a growth in drug trafficking. The scuttlebutt was that the Chinese Triad had set up shop there and the rumors coming down the pipeline was that the S.C.P.D. was slow to react to this sort of very organized, underground crime.

And if there was any city that was out of sync with the rest of the world, it was Gotham. Metropolis's sister city might as well have been on another planet altogether for how disconnected it was. Anyone who visited came away saying that Gotham seemed to exist in a world all its own.

The Met P.D. had never had a true, insidious problem with organized crime. Mob-buster policeman Captain Ron Harper from the seventies had practically re-written the handbook on dealing with the mob and the procedures continued to be followed to this day. As such, mafia-based crimes had a hard time finding root in a city like Metropolis. It wasn't the fertile soil it needed to be for them to thrive.

Very recently, the Met P.D. had stopped a massive drug trafficking operation and in the process of doing so, they had ripped out the very last of the organized mob crime. The Gigante family had come out by the roots with the arrest of its matriarch, Sofia Gigante. The ensuing collapse of the mob network had happened in stages; first with the lieutenants attempting to flee for safer harbors before they could be arrested. Then the foot-soldiers catching wind of the closing dragnet just a few seconds too late. And then the bottom-feeders trying to scuttle into their bolt-holes, often to no avail.

Two of the biggest problems to the city's infrastructure had been handily dealt with in one smashing blow and everything else that had depended on the mob's generous patronage would come apart on its own. Maybe it would need a little prodding here and there, but it was no longer had the potential to become the problem it might have been otherwise.

Since its 1989 absorption into the greater police department, the SCU had only rarely handled the strange and unusual, for there had always been very little of that around the city. Metropolis had produced a significant number of superheroes in its superhero heyday, but none of them had ever come to fight crime there. No need to. Metropolis was just too _normal_ for that sort of thing.

Three months ago, however, at the end of November, the SCU had been bitch-slapped broadside with proof to the contrary.

Between the first appearance of Superman and the return of the hero Guardian, and giant fire-breathing dogs from hell-like places, it was clear that Metropolis was suddenly no longer immune to meta-powered weirdness. It was like havoc and hell had begun spilling over the retaining wall, for not a full week of December passed before another metahuman with a penchant for breaking things had decided to test out his powers on the roads and skyscrapers.

If Officer First Grade Colletta "Etta" Kanigher had had any idea what kind of disasters were coming in the near-future and the distant one, she might called in sick and stayed in bed.

But she **didn't** know what was coming, so she had rolled out of bed all the same to shower and dress and find something palatable to eat for breakfast.

For a young lady as bubbly and bright as Colletta, full of pep and vim and _joie de vivre_ , bursting with pluck and grit and gumption, the few people who saw her outside of her standard cop-wear seemed stunned that she trended towards darker colors. They had come to expect bright, bold, contrasting colors from her, to suit her personality and general outlook on life. Instead, they found her in combinations of blue, gray, white, and black.

Being part of the SCU and the demanding nature of the job meant she was permitted to go plainclothes (the uniform was only for particular occasions). It was just that there was still something of a dress-code to adhere to. Really, it was more of a color-code. The dark colors were considered more professional and Colletta had gotten so used to seeing herself in them that she wasn't much in the mind to wear other colors.

It made dressing in the mornings that much easier.

Her room-mate Patricia was up and about by the time Colletta came into the main living areas, eating a breakfast of Greek yogurt and something that crunched like nuts. The two room-mates grunted a 'good morning' at each other as Colletta passed on her way into the kitchen. They weren't close, barely friends. They had met through mutuals during the apartment-hunting process, but hadn't exactly gotten along swimmingly. Mostly, they stayed out of each other's hair and for the most part, didn't see much of each other.

Colletta opened the pantry and noticed a distinct lack of palatable content. There were bagels, yeah, but _sesame_ seed bagels. Urg. Patricia bought them specifically because she knew Colletta hated them. Some sort of healthy grain cereal that boasted real flax seeds. More urg. The fridge yielded even more food stuff that the cop was not in the mind to eat. There was more of that Greek yogurt, a lot of packaged fruit, but no eggs, no milk, not even lunch meat.

"Patricia, can you stop shopping only for yourself?" Colletta wondered, slapping the fridge door shut. "There's nothing to eat in here."

"Yes, there is. There's plenty." Patricia said a touch defensively. She could all but smell the upcoming argument.

"Not for me. I'm not the kale-munching veggie-saurus in this apartment. I need my protein or I'm a dead little cop on the road-side." Colletta argued, instead going back to the pantry for the bottled water they kept on the bottom shelf. Seemed like she would be eating out for breakfast again. "Look, I know you don't eat meat, but I do. And since you insist on doing the shopping, would it kill you to... I dunno, buy some chicken breast or ground beef for me? Hell, cheese and eggs would be a god-send."

"You'd be much healthier on a vegetarian diet." Patricia said primly, a fact she had been extolling ever since she had cut meat and animal by-products out of her diet three years ago.

"I'd be much _deader_ on a vegetarian diet." Colletta muttered, rolling her eyes.

One _could_ live healthy on a vegetarian diet, but Colletta didn't think she could get away with it over the long-term before she went full-zombie on a pack of bacon. Not with her daily activity level these days; running hare-mad across the city to chase down leads on meta-humans and other such weird stuff. She needed that muscle-repairing protein and the energy it provided, and as much as she liked fruits and nuts, she had found they didn't have the same effect.

But try and raise that argument with Patricia and all Colletta ever got out of it was a haughty expression and a short lecture about inhumane farming practices. It was always short because Colletta never stuck around to hear the full thing.

Patricia claimed that she was definitely healthier and had more energy, but there didn't appear to have been any significant change in her health. She was as hale as a twenty-five year old yoga rat could be.

"Etta _-_ -" Patricia started with the tone that suggested she was about to begin the very lecture in question.

"For the last time, don't. Don't give me the lecture about where my eggs come from." Colletta said firmly, holding up a hand. "Veganism is not for everyone, Patrish. I'm asking you as a decent human being to at least start buying eggs and cheese for me because I can barely make it to the store on a good day, let alone the bad. You wanna talk healthy eating? Then stop making my only option for breakfast fast food egg muffins."

"There's bagels."

"Sesame seed bagels. Which I don't like, and you know it."

"Fruit and yogurt."

"I'm a goddamn cop. I need something more substantial and lasting than that if I'm gonna make it to lunch." Colletta grabbed a water bottle out of the package and raised her hands in apparent defeat. "Y'know what, I'm not gonna make an argument out of this 'cause you never listen and I don't have the patience or the time. Gotta jet. Bye."

Patricia made a spluttering noise of outrage, like she had really _really_ wanted to get that lecture in as if she thought it would stick this time. Colletta was practically running for the door, scooping up her bag and her coat along the way. A quick shake of the pockets assured her that her keys were still in there and she was through the door before she had even gotten the coat over her shoulders.

She knew already that she was going to have to try and find some time in her schedule to do grocery shopping for herself. Patricia was good about keeping them stocked in hygenic essentials, but when it came to food and buying meat and associated by-products, she would sooner throw up in the shopping cart than look at a carton of eggs.

She wouldn't even buy snack cakes.

Truly, Patricia was as stubborn as the earth's gravitational pull when it came to her veganism.

And _that_ was saying something, considering that Colletta was associated with Lois Lane, _Daily Planet_ reporter and near-death experiencer extraordinaire.

Outside the apartment building, it was starting to really feel like March, with the weather clearing up a little more every day and the sun was shining through the clouds with greater frequency. Colletta could practically smell spring in the air and she couldn't resist inhaling a deep breath before she set down the front walk to her car. There was a warmer breeze sweeping up from the south, turning snow into rain. The morning air was still nippy and it was definitely coat weather, but today was bright with sun and the promise of proper spring by the end of the month.

It was going to be a good day.

Hopefully.

Colletta was optimistic about the potential it had of being a good day. It was hard to judge anymore now that they were regularly dealing with the strange and unusual. Any day was now entirely capable of taking a sharp left turn.

Four months ago, Superman had appeared in the sky during what had had every appearance of the end of the world - or at least the end of the city. On what had happened two miles above Metropolis that day, the details were still a bit murky. It didn't sound like anyone had gotten the full story, even Lois who had been right smack in the middle of it. Her blog post on it had detailed what she knew, but it had been clear that she had gotten yanked into an existing situation that had previously nothing to do with her and everything to do with Superman.

The would-be hero had made subsequent appearances over the course of the month until the Big One had struck. It had come in the form of an attempted bio-terrorism attack involving strategically-located bombs and an alien super-virus in a plan that _-_ \- had it succeeded _-_ \- would have not just razed Metropolis to the ground, but the world too.

The Near-Apocaplypse of '06, they were calling it now. The full extent of the potential damage had been made known; a certain reporter hadn't been about to let it disappear. Metropolis was under some kind of investigation, Colletta knew, but she wasn't important enough to be told if it was the CDC or some other shady, nebulous, tangentially evil government organization.

Only one of the seventeen planted bombs had detonated, fortunately, and no one had been injured by the explosion. Unfortunately, the detonation had taken out the SCU building. In the grand scheme of things, it hadn't been the biggest loss the city could have suffered, but it had really shaken things up for the SCU. They had lost every last bit of physical evidence, forcing them to shelve then-active cases and call off a handful entirely. Being relegated to an under-sized, slightly mildew-y office that clearly hadn't been used in _years_ for the duration of the construction project had not helped either.

Colletta wasn't sure where the fire-breathing ten foot tall hellhound had come from, but it had eaten one person, killed another, and had swallowed the entire case of alien super-virus because the damn thing had turned out to be a bomb itself. That was when Superman had swept in to the rescue, flying the ticking time bomb of a hellhound out to space so it could harmlessly explode somewhere past lunar orbit.

Had it not been for intrepid video footage, Colletta doubted that she would have believed the entire sequence of events. It was shit like that that just didn't happen around a place like Metropolis.

But here they were three months later and the weird shit was only just getting revved up.

Colletta lived on the West River Island, one of the most run-down areas of the city. Specifically, she lived in a neighborhood within spitting distance of S.T.A.R. Labs. The construction of the enormous lab complex had drawn external jobs to the area which had led to gentrification in the eastern-most neighborhoods of Cheswalk. The rest of West River was scheduled to undergo a mass renovation, with the bulldozing of the decrepit and abandoned buildings starting next month.

Despite the island's economic reality, the neighborhood was a far sight better than the rest of the West River. The only downside was the travel problems she had to put up with getting downtown.

The Vernon Bridge connected West River to St. Martin's Island. From there, she always turned to the north to take the Clinton Bridge up into Racine, followed the road along the riverfront, and then turned back south down the Howard Bridge. It was a roundabout path, but it wasn't worth dealing with the Schuster Bridge congestion every morning.

The good news was that the Bronze Bridge was starting to look like a reality again. If she squinted, she could just make out the inspection crew walking across the jutting dead end. There was much more substantial talk about finishing the project; people had taken to their internet platform of choice to once again rant about the congestion on the Schuster Bridge. Colletta had recently heard mumbles about another bridge project, this one to further connect St. Martin's Island to West River (though it probably meant taking out part of the S.T.A.R. Labs complex). It likely wouldn't happen until after the restoration was at the halfway point and the city had a better idea what the numbers looked like.

Colletta was well ahead of the morning rush hour by the time she hit Midtown and headed south, so she encountered no traffic snarls in between stopping for food and coffee. Since there were so few members of the Special Crimes Unit, they were perpetually on call and thus had no set hours. They arrived when they were called and left when they were dismissed, which was sometimes up to twenty-four hours later. Most days, Colletta just turned up at seven in the morning and settled in for the long haul. They were paid as though they were taking ten-hour shifts.

She left her car in the Met P.D. parking garage and hurried across the street to the main building. This was where the SCU had been re-located until the construction of the new building was completed. Specifically, they had been re-located down into the empty office space down on the basement level. They had been given two large rooms and one private office. Their commander, Lieutenant Maggie Sawyer, had gotten the office and they had refit the larger of the two rooms to serve as a bullpen while the smaller one became a conference room.

It wasn't an ideal arrangement. There was almost no natural light and the electric lights didn't seem to have been upgraded since the eighties. The rooms smelled faintly of mildew and damp despite the inspector's assurance that they were safe for human occupancy. The area had been used for storage for a long time, so while they weren't short desks and chairs and other sorts of office equipment, it was frankly obvious that this was where office equipment went to die. Everything had to be used gently, for it was all about as sturdy as a blade of grass.

Colletta liked to think that this had been no one's first choice, but who was she kidding. Despite the upswing in weird activity and their role in monitoring it, the SCU still got treated as something like a joke.

"Good morning!" Colletta half-bellowed as she strolled into the bullpen.

There was a tired murmur of greeting, not one punctuated by a voice louder than a mumble. No one else was quite the morning person she was and Colletta sometimes reveled in her ability to make hardened cops grumble into their coffee when she came through the door like a ray of sunshine.

She took a quick headcount on the way to her desk _-_ \- still a few heads short of the full count. She wasn't the last one here. Maggie had scheduled a meeting for this morning, though why she had set it for the abomidable hour of seven-thirty in the morning was anyone's guess.

It wasn't so much that Colletta was a morning person, but that she could be impossibly cheerful first thing out of bed regardless of the hour as long as she had some solid blocks of sleep behind her.

"Good morning, Steve-o." Colletta said, poking her sleepy cubicle buddy.

Steve grunted and lifted his hand slightly to peer at her with bleary eyes. Confusion crossed his face, like he thought something was different but couldn't pin down what. He blinked a few times and then _-_ -

"Etta, your hair!" he squawked in alarm, eyes flying open wider.

"What? What about it? Does it look bad?" Colletta asked, half-panicked. She had swapped the natural hair for box braids and they had taken all weekend to put in. If they were screwed up somehow _-_ -!

"No, it's fine!" Steve assured her, looking more awake now. "It's just... I think I'm gonna miss the poof."

"Oh yeah, I thought I'd change it up." Colletta chuckled, fingering a braid. "I wanted to go back to box braids for a while and I reached the requisite number of complaints anyways."

Maggie honestly didn't care what Colletta did with her hair as long as it was clean and cared for, but other white people had strong opinions about African-textured hair and thought of themselves as well-informed enough to tell Colletta what she oughta be doing with her locks.

"I didn't even realize it was so long." Steve commented, making a motion with one hand like he wanted to reach out and touch, but he controlled himself before he gave in to the impulse.

"I know, right?"

Worn natural, her hair barely reached down to her shoulders, but the braids went halfway down her back. It always startled even her how long her hair actually was and the braids still didn't let it fall to its full length.

Colletta was proud of her appearance. She had really great skin that was a nice, warm shade of brown and awesome dark green eyes and probably the straightest, whitest teeth anyone had ever seen and they regularly complimented her on her dental work. Which was funny in its own way, because Colletta herself was the opposite of straight and white.

Steve Trevor was the all-American pretty boy, with the straw-blonde hair and the cornflower blue eyes. He had been born in Oklahoma and raised in Philidelphia, giving him a street-level view of a fair-sized demographic. He had been through the Air Force long enough to leave as a sergeant and had been snapped up by government agencies within months of his honorable discharge.

Out of the fourteen members of the SCU, he was probably the only one with any prior experience on actively corraling law-breaking metahumans. He used to work for Bureau 39, and if you believed Lois Lane (which Colletta did), that meant he had essentially worked for the Department of Extranormal Operations. Bureau 39 had been a re-tasked version of the DEO.

However, its leader Agent Trask had been butt-fucking insane and he had fired Steve for telling the truth. As if she had gotten a wisp of premonition that he would make a wonderful addition to their crew, Maggie had literally turned around and hired Steve not two seconds later.

Colletta was still sure that the lieutenant had hired him just to watch the sputtering outrage turn Trask red from chin to scalp, but Steve **did** make a wonderful addition to their crew.

Further Superman-related events had caused Trask to be removed from his leadership position and court-martialed within an inch of his life. Bureau 39 had since been taken over by an Amanda Waller and re-tasked into something _else_ , but they hadn't heard from the organization since.

"So how was your weekend?" Steve asked, sinking back down into his desk chair.

"Obnoxiously long and boring for having spent nine cumulative hours in a salon chair." Colletta replied, sitting down as well. "I'm also considering looking into new apartments."

"Room-mate getting on your nerves, huh?"

"Oh, more than usual. She's managed to forget that humans are omnivorous and a vegan diet doesn't work out for everyone. I can't even convince her to buy cheese anymore. So I'm thinking I should just fuck it all and look for another room-mate or another apartment."

"Ooh, me. I'll be your new room-mate." Steve waved his hand briefly, with only a bit of enthusiasm, too tired to muster up anything more. He wouldn't complain about a change in living quarters. He currently lived in a studio apartment that felt like a shoebox.

It wasn't the worst place he'd ever lived in. The dorms at basic training had been a hygenic nightmare and he'd spent five out of six years overseas at Air Force bases that seemed to have been cobbled together from plasterboard and plywood, when he wasn't sleeping out in the dirt. Employment at Bureau 39 had included employee housing, but the building had once been an old boarding house that still possessed most of the original drafts. Compared to those places, the new apartment was a five-star hotel.

Still, it was a tiny studio. It had been the easiest thing to get on short notice and it wasn't like he'd planned to live there for very long in the first place.

A whistle sounded from the door of the bullpen and the stout, rounded form of Detective Greg Pittarese stepped into sight. He had the body shape of a cannon ball and a smile like the Jolly Green Giant.

"I got donuts!" he announced, hefting the party-sized box above his head.

That was like ringing the dinner bell for a pack of wolves. Say whatever you wanted to about stereotypes, cops, and donuts, but the SCU adored every manner of donut regardless of its calorie content. They had strong opinions about frosting and sprinkles, pastry dough versus yeast, jelly-filled versus regular, and goddamn if Pittarese didn't have their preferences memorized. He even got them at a discount price, because the bakery he bought them from was owned by a distant cousin.

He was a wonderful man, as far as everyone in the SCU was concerned.

Maggie Sawyer arrived in the aftermath of the donut raid, feeling like she had just witnessed the tail end of a shark attack. The last of the raiders was swarming away as she side-stepped through the doorway behind the rotund detective.

"Good morning, Greg." she said, edging around him so she could dip a hand into the box.

"G'morning Lieutenant." Pittarese grinned, turning so she could reach easier. "Mostly just chocolate and glazed left, but if I remember correctly, that's what you like."

"Never hated 'em." Maggie said, plucking two donuts out of the box. She balanced them on the top of her coffee cup so she could have a hand free. "Is everyone here?"

Pittarese glanced into the box and counted what was left. "Yeah, I think so."

Maggie had no doubt that the detective could gauge attendance according to how many donuts were left, but she looked over the assembled individuals anyways. There was only fourteen of them, in total, so even when they were all moving around, it was easy to count up to twelve. She practically had their faces memorized (probably the only benefit to such a small group; they were a tight team).

She pursed her lips and whistled sharply, causing everyone to look up from their desks and the coffee. She waited until every eye was on her before she spoke.

"Conference room, five minutes."

They weren't bad, her team, Maggie thought with absent pride, as she made her way across the bullpen to her office. Each of them brought a different talent and skill-set to the table. Captain Jase brought coffee and motivation and unmatched administrative skills. Colletta was ninety percent of the pluck and gumption. Turpin and Detective Gordon had split bullheaded stubbornness between them, the latter with some fantastic detective skills. Officer Corey Mills filled their quota of recklessly overconfident. Detectives Marzan and Pittarese had the market on relentless, driving work ethic cornered. Lyle was full of unflagging optimism in addition to being their only techie and forensics expert. Sergeant Kesel was a pattern-spotter and Sergeant Escudero was a problem-solver. Steve had his prior experience in metahumans and Detective John Jones _was_ a metahuman.

Maggie wasn't sure yet what James Harper would bring to the table _-_ \- he had only been with them a month now. But he had already proven his mettle three months ago, showing cool thinking in a particularly hot situation.

They had all kept their heads together during the terrorist attack and had done their best to fend off the exploding, fire-breathing hellhound despite their steep disadvantages. It did have to be acknowledged that if Superman hadn't shown up when he had, they probably all would have died, but that was beside the point.

The point was that the SCU was painfully under-staffed and there was only so much they could do with so few people. They needed at least thirty people to meet any sort of minimum standard. They had fourteen people and that count included herself. She wasn't sure how to start addressing that problem. People weren't exactly lining up at the door to submit their transfer applications to the SCU. Gordon had been simultaneously worn down and enticed by the prospect of bringing down Sofia Gigante and had concluded that the SCU would give him that opportunity (the SCU had been trying to seduce him over to their side for a while beforehand). Steve had already been in a position to look for a new job (Maggie had just spared him the agony of hunting around). And Harper _-_ \- well he was the only one who had submitted an application completely of his own volition.

Three new members in three months was highly unusual and even more unlikely to repeat itself. They had to make do with who was already on board.

But this was a good group of fourteen, Maggie was pleased to say.

Five minutes later, they were gathered in the conference room which was outfitted with an oval table and not enough chairs to go around. As was becoming her custom, Maggie forwent sitting down in favor of standing at the head of the table (it gave Captain Jase a chair to sit in; he wasn't exactly young anymore). It made her feel slightly more official, like she wasn't addressing her team from a room that was slowly and somewhat invisibly succumbing to dry rot, and smelled faintly like wet newspaper.

"Alright." Maggie let her clipboard clatter down onto the table-top alongside a thick manual that had been in storage long enough to turn yellow around the edges. "Two weeks."

It was Turpin who asked first: "Until what?"

"Moving day." the lieutenant said, grinning with obvious excitement. "That's the time-table they've given me. If all sticks to schedule, they'll be done with the new building in two weeks."

"Yes!"

"Whoo!"

"Finally!"

All those and more came from around the table, cheers and a smattering of applause along with some fist-bumping. The relief and excitement was all but palable in a few short seconds. Three months was a long time to spend in these less-than-ideal working conditions. It was a miracle that no one had developed a sinus condition yet. Giving the SCU a new building to operate out of had been made top priority, so the construction team had worked through the winter and around the clock regardless of weather and temperatures.

"I know, it's been a long enough wait." Maggie agreed, raising a hand for silence. "But stay focused. It's still two weeks until then and we're going to be up to our eyeballs in weird stuff.

"Speaking of eyeballs, there are reports of a new metahuman who can spontaneously grow eyes on any part of his body."

Someone whispered: "Ew."

"Ew." Maggie nodded. "It's squicking people out more than causing any harm. Unfortunately, these reports are largely unsubstantiated and need to be verified beyond hysterical Chirps. Suspected metahuman is named Todd Reith, twenty years old, and he lives at Nineteen Oh Four, Lodgeville Road. That's campus housing in Mount Royal. Who wants to take the plunge?"

No one said a word. They looked at each other like they expected everyone else to raise their hand and then Steve made an uncomfortable noise in the back of his throat.

"Officer Trevor, good of you to volunteer!" Maggie trilled happily, smiling a little too widely when he tried to sputter out a protest but subsided immediately. "You can take Mills with you."

Officer Mill's face dropped in horror.

"The other recent report is Candice Watts, she's five. Her mother Sandra contacted us directly. Apparently, her daughter is capable of achieving limited flight if she spins like a top with her arms out. That also needs to be verified. Who wants that one?"

"Ooh!" Sergeant Kesel immediately thrust her arm into the air.

"Excellent, thank you. They're expecting you by ten o'clock. I'll get you the address in a bit." Maggie informed her, writing both officers' names down so she had them on record. "This brings me to something I want to address. All the reports we've gotten so far are benign. Creepy, but benign. Most of the situations are little more than verification and monitoring. The question, ladies and gentlemen, that I pose to you is how are we going to handle the inevitable situation when someone decides to start using their unusual abilities in a way that causes harm. I'm not talking about casual property damage with that earth-shaker last December. I mean serial murderers who can do something like shoot spikes from every part of their body. A sort of Vlad the Impaler type with heavy emphasis on _impale_. Think about that. What the hell are we supposed to do about that?"

The answer seemed obvious, but only if you pretended that the hypothetical serial murderer couldn't shoot spikes from any part of his body. The obvious answer would be to deal with that hypothetical murderer the way you'd deal with any other murderer.

Except they really couldn't, could they.

Take away the weapons, cuff the hands, and lock the murderer in a concrete cell and the situation was dealt with. Safe and secure as long as someone on the outside didn't have aspirations to break their friend out.

But a murderer who could teleport? Walk through walls? Ones with super-strength or flight powers? Ones who had abilities beyond the norm? How were they supposed to contain a criminal who could turn as insubstantial as a whiff of fog? How could they even catch someone who could turn invisible or look like an entirely different person in the blink of an eye?

They were fortunate, so far, that those beginning to emerge with their powers were teenagers and young adults, with a bare handful of children. The timing was right. Twenty years after the Scare and the next generation was starting to mature. Many of them were more interested in trying to figure out how their powers worked at all than using them to commit crimes.

But Maggie Sawyer had a cop since she was twenty-two and her promotion to lieutenant hadn't come arbitrarily. Ten years split between Star City and here in Metropolis. She knew how the streets worked. Last December's earth-shaker would hardly be the last of his kind. Sooner or later, someone was going to get the bright idea to start seeing if they could walk through the wall of a bank vault.

The problem that the SCU was facing was two-fold. The first part (obviously) was that they had no idea what they were supposed to do with any law-breaking metahumans, provided they even caught them in the first place. The DEO had written procedures for arresting and detaining metahumans, and the Department of Metahuman Affairs had outlined the grounds for when an arrest should take place, if one needed to take place. But if these documents still existed in a written form, then it might take a court order and several months to get them out of storage and they couldn't wait that long.

At this point, Maggie strongly suspected they were going to have to make something up.

The second problem was even more pressing. They had no way of consistently monitoring these new metahumans. Finding regular old suspects was easy(ish) thanks to modern security tech, but some of these kids could do shit like turn invisible or fly or teleport through shadows and walk through walls, or hex any technology. Metahumans were far less likely to trip alarms or motion-activated cameras, which made them that much harder to track. It also felt like that because it had been nearly twenty years since meta-powers were a thing, people didn't truly recognize what they were seeing or convinced themselves otherwise. The human brain had a fantastic capacity for lying to itself.

Maggie canted an eyebrow at her team expectantly and they all looked around at each other, shifting until the chairs creaked. It hadn't been a rhetorical question; she had really been searching for an idea from any of them. If they had to make something up, then so be it. It just had to be functional.

Sergeant Escudero opened her mouth, but she was pre-empted by Maggie's phone beeping, alerting her to a text. The team shifted, knowing what usually came when the lieutenant's phone beeped like that.

"Hold that thought." Maggie instructed, tapping the screen and bringing the text up. It simply read _'Code Veitch. Urgent.'_ followed by an address. "Well, well, first Code Veitch of the day. Alright, write that thought down and put it on my desk." she told the sergeant. "Any of you, actually. Got a thought, put it on my desk. Harper!"

James Harper raised his head a little higher. "Yes ma'am?"

Maggie beckoned to him. "You're with me on this one. Time for you to cut your teeth on your first official investigation."

* * *

-0-


	2. The Old Grindstone

The response to this story was about what I expected. aka Low. I get it. It's not Superman. Casual fans of the comics may not be familiar with these characters. But I like writing with the Special Crimes Unit and they **are** important characters in the Superman mythos. And the story itself is ultimately a stage-setter, so it will be posted in its entirety regardless of response. All the same, thank you to everyone who has read and/or reviewed.

On another hand, I think I might be back in the saddle where writing the Flash is concerned. I'll call it a win if I can get chapter 29 finished before Saturday. This assumes, of course, that I will not get distracted by Harry Potter Marauder era fanfic.

* * *

Chapter Two: The Old Grindstone

There had been times, over the last few weeks, when Maggie found herself fervently wishing that things would just go back to the way they had been before. These moments came at two in the morning on the edge of a crime scene where someone's head had spontaneously exploded or some half-stoned teenagers had found the body of a creature that looked too much like a chupacabra to be a coincidence. It was in those moments where Maggie found herself asking exactly when everything had gone to hell and could they change it before it got worse, or was it supposed to have done so anyways.

She also wondered how much longer it was going to be before she regarded Code Veitch calls as routine and regular as traffic stops.

That was the part almost too scary to think about.

At what point would this become the new normal?

The stranger part was remembering that at one point in very recent history, all this Code Veitch _had_ been perfectly normal and routine and ordinary. The last twenty years had actually been quite unusual compared to the five decades preceding it. Metahumans and their powers had been in the news every night. Superheroes had practically roamed the skies above their heads, there had been so many of them. Maggie remembered being a child, out in her backyard watching the clouds and wondering which superhero she'd see that day.

It had been perfectly normal, back then.

Stranger now to think that it was all starting to come back.

Maggie wasn't trying to delude herself on that matter. She had suspected for a long time that one day, metahumans were going to come back and perhaps they would bring the superheroes with them. It had been a child's hope at first, but it had slowly grown into a steady solid suspicion as she'd broken in her cop instincts.

History had documented a steady rise and fall pattern of metahumans. Documents as far back as the fifteen hundreds had described individuals with unusual abilities, gifts from God or the devil, depending on the religious inclination of the writer. Perhaps they'd used done nothing more than wow an appreciative audience, performed in front of an awestruck crowd. Others had chosen to use their powers to help humanity achieve great things, or protect them from those who would cause harm. There had even been a team. Albeit loose and disorganized and almost too fiery to get along, but a team all the same and a century-old precursor to the All-Stars.

The Scare hadn't erased the genetic potential and for the next generation, it had only been a matter of time.

The prevalence of meta-powers was growing more visible week by week, albeit in small increments. It seemed to be one of the side-effects of Superman's presence and in retrospect, it shouldn't have been all that unexpected either.

If the metahumans didn't bring out the superheroes, then it would be the superheroes who brought out the metahumans.

Superman continued to be a visible presence around Metropolis. The last three months was riddled with reports of his appearance; he was certainly making no effort to hide himself. Visibility, costume, alias, altruistic intentions. Yes, he certainly checked in each box.

He didn't actively stop crime _-_ \- perhaps due to some tacit understanding of the way the public viewed superheroes these days, regardless of what they called him _-_ \- but he called in tips and interrupted crimes in progress with mild, concerned expressions that were just threatening enough to make the criminal lose their nerve for a while and the would-be victims almost always reported that Superman barely raised his voice and never his fists. The only times he actively got involved were during the catastrophe-type emergencies. Apartment fires and house-fires and almost-traffic accidents and a recent chemical spill. So far, there wasn't a single thing that could bring Superman down.

Maggie still wasn't sure if she liked having him around.

It was nothing personal against him; Superman was saving the day for a lot of individual people and he was doing the city a world of good in a lot of ways. It was just that Maggie was thirty-three. She had been ten years old when the White Scare had begun in Star City, when regular civilian meta-humans had started to demand the freedom to use their powers whenever they wanted and not just under specific circumstances, and the regular unpowered folks had reacted with understandable fear that had led to them wanting to suppress meta-powers.

She had been eleven going on twelve when the civil protests for and against had started involving bricks and bullets and tear gas and meta-powers and eventually had escalated to blood running in the streets. She remembered when the D.E.O. had released their hounds to bring the metas under control, somehow stripping them of their powers.

She had been thirteen when it had ended, watching the news reporters talk in a panic about the final clash between Jay Garrick the Flash and his long-time nemesis the Reverse-Flash. She remembered wincing, her faith cracked, when the Flash had made full use of his authorization to apply deadly force, the very moment forever immortalized on camera.

There had been a ***snap***. Then the Reverse-Flash's head had skewed too far to one side. His body had slumped lifelessly to the ground.

" _I had to."_ the Flash had told the cameras later, looking like he had aged ten years in ten minutes. _"I didn't want to, but I wasn't left with a choice this time. You don't want to imagine who he was planning to kill."_

Ten years a cop and Maggie fully understood that sometimes ending a criminal's life was a grim necessity. Kill one to save many. But the heroes weren't supposed to do stuff like that.

Or at least the moment shouldn't have been caught on camera for an entire generation of children to witness.

No wonder they were so damn jaded.

No wonder they didn't believe in superheroes anymore.

The majority of Metropolis, however, didn't share Maggie's misgivings. Led perhaps inadvertantly by Lois Lane, three-quarters of the city regarded Superman with a mixture of awe, joy, and patriotism that was bringing out the best in people. The Superhero Effect in action; the idea that one person could so influence such a broad demographic to adopt a mind-set that was more hopeful, less jaded, less antagonistic.

There was a healthy measure of suspicion all the same. However brand-new and exciting the concept of Superman was, the effects of the Scare lingered on and no one had quite forgotten what had started it.

"What do you think?" Maggie asked out loud.

"About?"

"Superman."

In the passenger seat, James Harper shifted like he was sitting on a sharp pebble. His face betrayed nothing more than a slightly uncomfortable expression before it smoothed over into a blank slate.

"Why are you asking?" he inquired.

Maggie shrugged. "It's been three months. I think it's about time I start knowing what my officers think about him." she explained. "Three months is enough time to develop an informed opinion. So what's your position on Superman?"

The police officer did that uncomfortable shift again and took a moment to card fingers through his red hair, as though the action helped him organize his thoughts.

"It's only been three months. I don't have much of an opinion yet and I think any conclusions at this point would be premature." he said diplomatically. "We're about the same age, Lieutenant. I've been around long enough to see what the Scare did. I remember it started because people started to hate the idea of superheroes and it went from unrest to fear to violence."

"I'm aware." Maggie nodded. "But coming off that perspective, what's your honest opinion?"

"I don't think the world's ready for him." James admitted. Then again, the world never seemed ready for super-powers. "But he's here now and I guess we'll just have to get used to him."

Maggie raised her eyebrows. "Are you always this grim?" she asked.

James countered with his own set of raised eyebrows. "You don't like him either."

"No, I never said that. My exact words were that I didn't trust him." she corrected. "You said it: we're the same age. I was a kid when the Scare happened. I got to watch the Flash snap a man's neck on a live news broadcast. Back then, it was my belief that superheroes would always do the right thing."

"That's a bad mentality to carry." James commented, a tad disapprovingly.

"In my defense, I was thirteen and that's what the world had taught me up to that point." the lieutenant said defensively. "I grew up believing that superheroes like the Flash and the rest of the Justice Society were infallible, can't do no wrong. That anyone who killed was a bad guy. Be me, thirteen years old and impressionable, watching that broadcast thinking to myself that the Flash would just bring the Rival in like he always did. Maybe a few punches to the jaw and then it was off to Belle Reve for a long stay. Be me, thirteen years old and impressionable, watching someone I looked up to snap a man's neck."

James went 'hmm' again, his face taking on that smooth blank slate expression while he stared at the dashboard in front of him. Maggie didn't know it, but James Harper was over ninety years old and the on-again, off-again hero known as Guardian. He had been around through the Scare and he had fought other metas to keep the regular un-powered folk safe from their aggressions.

It had been a harrowing time during which he had valued his secret identity more than ever. He had gotten shit from the other metahumans for siding with the vanilla humans, and he'd gotten shit from the vanilla humans just for being a metahuman, and he'd gotten even more shit from the metahumans who had attacked him in his civilian I.D because they thought he was a vanilla human.

It had taken just four years to kill the Golden Age.

Jay Garrick the Flash had been such a popular hero with every age group, friendly and charming and relatable on every possible level. Years of being the spokesperson for the superheroes of the Golden Age had no doubt helped in that regard. He had been the most public face and it would probably be fifty or sixty years after his death before he passed out of living memory. Despite being a few years older than him, even James and the rest of the Newsboys had looked up to the speedster. Something about Jay Garrick spoke of ageless wisdom and endless patience.

Everyone knew of his history as a Nazi smasher, of the role he had played in World War II. The Rival had hardly been the first to die at the Flash's hand (though probably the last). But for the generation of the Scare, the knowledge had been purely intellectual. For many, that was the first time they had ever seen it happen.

"I know now that the Flash was most likely justified in killing the Rival. You don't get the go-ahead to apply deadly force if no one thought he wasn't a significant threat." Maggie went on, unaware of James's thoughts. "But when you're thirteen and there are four decades of history telling you that the Flash is a wonderful person and a fantastic hero, watching him kill a man can really jar your faith."

"So what do _you_ think of Superman?" James asked.

"Like I said, I don't trust him. I think he'll have to prove himself first." Maggie elaborated, shrugging at the same time. She wished she had a somewhat more definitive answer.

"For how long?" James questioned seriously. "How long do we get to leave him spinning in the wind before we decide we can start trusting him?"

"When he's earned it." Maggie replied.

Truthfully, it was not much of an answer at all. It didn't provide a time-frame. It was completely arbitrary, based solely on their personal opinions and grudges and misgivings.

James made a grumbly noise and decided to change the subject.

"So how does this all work? This investigating the super-human stuff." he asked.

"We're starting to make it up as we go." Maggie admitted, trying not to wince. "Before it got all weird, we followed the standard procedure because it still _worked_. But now we've fallen back on some bastardized version of the scientific method and I'm still not sure how we're supposed to make it work. Half of what we end up with relies on physical and biological evidence that we don't know how to test, even if we had the know-how. Our only forensic tech is Lyle and he specializes in digital forensics. His grasp on criminalistics is not what it should be. And if you haven't noticed _-_ -"

"No one's lining up at the door to get a spot in the SCU, I know." James nodded.

"Exactly." Maggie scowled. "No one takes the SCU seriously enough to consider transferring. Except for you." she added, still somewhat surprised that he had. "Why did you transfer?"

"Why are you asking?" James wondered.

"Because I gave Trevor a job and Gordon saw it as an opportunity to bring down Gigante _-_ \- not that I wasn't trying to get him out of Major Crimes in the first place. But you transferred more willingly than any one of us." the lieutenant pointed out. Everyone from Captain Jase on down to Colletta had been a Commander-mandated transfer. "So at the risk of sounding like a teenager, what gives?"

James smiled slightly. "I thought this was where I'd be able to do the most good." he answered. "Additionally, without me, the Slums precinct will have to up its game and do something for once if they don't want to get bitch-slapped. It'll be good for them."

Maggie's eyebrow went back up. "Even while fully aware of our reputation as a living joke?"

"A living joke that damn near saved the city." James corrected. "I don't care if Superman did most of the work. The point is that the SCU held out long enough to make sure Superman still had something to save. It may never seem like it, but the police create that nick of time for superheroes to arrive in. The SCU wouldn't be Superman's back-up, but his support team. You aren't any less important to the city for not having powers, if that's what you're worried about."

It was Maggie's turn to shift uncomfortably and she did her best to hide it. Because there it was. All of her half-formed, undefined misgivings laid out in plain words. That was the other thing she recalled from her childhood. Not every city had had a superhero, but in the ones that had, it seemed that the superhero had replaced the police force as the go-to for dangerous crimes. Anything more than a gun and it was like the police had lost their nerve, couldn't handle the sight of a nine millimeter without breaking into a cold sweat.

For the cities that had been home to a superhero, it was like the police had become unflatteringly incompetent and frighteningly redundant, for they had come to rely too much on their heroes to save the day.

That could happen to Metropolis, if Superman stuck around long enough.

 _No._ Maggie's hands tightened on the steering wheel. _It can't happen. I won't let it happen. This is Metropolis. We are not weak._

"We're almost there." she said quietly to James.

'There' was several blocks worth of privately-leased lab space spread over several buildings, not far from the college campus. It was not a location that saw much in the way of police activity, not of this particular magnitude. At most, there was drunk and disorderly conduct, and the occasional streaker (they _were_ less than an eighth of a mile from the campus). To see nearly a dozen cop cars parked around the block and yellow tape cordoning off a building was a rare sight indeed. Little wonder it had attracted a crowd, comprised mostly of curious students who lived in the nearby housing.

Maggie found a place to park the car on the opposite side of the street and got out, looking around for any coroner vans or ambulances. Code Veitch sometimes meant a dead body, but mostly it was just a fucking weird occurrence that the SCU never had an answer for.

"Lieutenant Sawyer!" called out a voice from the other side of the yellow cordon tape and there was a man trotting down the front walk, waving to them. Maggie felt a bubble of annoyance in her chest. The man had black hair, dark eyes, and an indistinct heritage that was East Asian, but Maggie had no idea exactly what country.

"Who is that?" James asked quietly, just behind her shoulder.

"Detective Sholin. If I had to rank him out of ten, I'd give him a five." Maggie answered.

"On his police skills or...?"

"Professionality."

James frowned. "That's not a word."

"I used it. It's a word now." Maggie said stubbornly. She forced a smile onto her face to mask the low-grade annoyance as the detective came into hearing range. "Detective Sholin, what important information are you going to with-hold from me today?"

"Don't be like that, Lieutenant. It was just a few times." Detective Sholin said, the smile dropping from his face, but only briefly. "I hope you got a good answer for this one. It's a nasty mess in there." he added gleefully.

"You can start by telling me the relevant details and not giving me your usual maypole routine." Maggie said, ducking under the police tape that James held up for her. "Is that possible or am I going to have to start with the ol' stink-eye?"

Sholin's grin persisted for another half-second until his gaze flickered over Maggie's shoulder and landed on James behind her. The lieutenant was suddenly aware of the man's tense posture, the field of "do not fuck with us" radiating from his body, and she thought that James was giving off the stinkiest stink-eye ever, but she resisted the desire to glance over her shoulder and check.

Regardless, Sholin seemed to be reconsidering his usual dance steps.

 _Goddammit, why does it take a man to make another man listen?_ The lieutenant wondered, scowling internally. And why did it take an Officer First Grade to make a detective listen to a lieutenant?

"Ah, c'mon, I think you need to see this before I can explain anything." Sholin said, beckoning for them to follow as he started back up the front walk.

"Stalling." Maggie sing-songed, following him all the same. "All I got was an urgent Code Veitch. I have no information. How do you expect me to even form a hypothesis with no information? _Talk_ , detective! These lieutenant stripes are not decoration!"

Pulling rank wouldn't make her any more popular, but she wasn't looking to be popular. She was looking to be respected and if she had to go the route of making people fear her a little, then so be it.

Sholin made a grimacing face. "It's an independent research lab _-_ -" he started.

"I'm familiar with this side of town." Maggie interrupted, glancing around the lobby. There was a security desk, a directory, and one elevator beside a flight of stairs. "What _happened_?"

"One of the janitors made the call about forty minutes ago. They found _-_ \- something in one of the labs." Sholin explained, his grimacing face becoming more pronounced. "Second floor, leased by an entomologist named Roderick Rose. He does guest-teaching at the university and private tutoring for entomology students. According to the university, he took a leave of absence starting last week. Said he would be in Chicago until the end of the month to deal with a family emergency."

"Except?" Maggie prompted.

They started to climb the stairs.

"Except the contact number he left with the science department goes nowhere and he has no family in Chicago. They live in Sault Ste. Marie." Sholin replied, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check it. "I've got Hammerstein and Farrington checking his place of residence now. They've already reported no signs of packing and it looks like someone might have been there as recently as last night."

"And the lab?"

The detective made another face, but it was more closely related to nausea than annoyance.

"You'll have to lay eyes on this one first."

He left it at that as they arrived on the landing. The second floor corridor was dark, save for the light spilling out of the open doorway on the right. An officer stood guard beside it and Sholin stopped to speak with the man rather than go back into the lab, leaving Maggie and James to walk through on their own. Inside the labs were tanks of insects, from ants to hornets to large grasshoppers and roaches and more six-legged creepy-crawlies than Maggie recognized. There was a broken window on the far side of the room. Forensics had already arrived, methodically combing the lab for any clues and evidence, dusting for prints and one of the techs was crouched on the floor with a camera snapping pictures of _-_ -

"Uh... Is that...?" Maggie started, pointing at it.

"Yep." Sholin nodded.

It was a pile of human flesh.

Not a bloody shredded pile of human flesh, but more like the skeleton inside had emerged from like a cicada, leaving the squishy shell to lay on the floor like a deflated balloon doll.

Maggie tilted her head and tried to make better sense of it.

"I know you said weird stuff..." James started in the tone of someone who had no idea what to say, but had to voice something anyways. "But this isn't what I imagined."

"It never is."

"And it's amazing, isn't it?" the forensic tech asked, the one crouched beside the skin with the camera in hand. He had straggly brown hair and the pale skin of someone who spent a lot of time indoors away from the sun, though it contrasted with the excited flush in his cheeks and the almost glitter in his eyes, and the shark-like grin of delight. He was young, a good decade younger than either SCU officer. Recent recruit, his ID badge was hardly scuffed and he didn't look like the rigors of the job had beaten him down yet.

"You think a pile of human skin looking like this is amazing?" Maggie said incredulously.

"Why wouldn't it be?" the tech asked, waving a hand to the mass of vacated flesh. "Lieutenant, you're not seeing everything. Get on my level and take a closer look. It's not gonna bite. It can't. There's no head."

She was reluctant to get any closer to the skin. It was still wearing a pair of boxer shorts, but even a few steps away, she could see that the skin had split all down the back, roughly along the path of the backbone. The shedding must have started at the neck for there indeed was no head, but there was a scraped pile of translucent skin still bearing the buzzcut hair. The whole display was jarring to look at, like it should have been a rubber body suit instead of actual skin a person would have been wearing a few hours ago.

But she stepped up beside it, careful not to disturb any evidence markers, and crouched down.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Oh." The forensic tech blinked. "Mitch. Mitch Coleman. I started a few months ago."

"They hired you right after Superman?" Maggie inquired. No doubt they had; there was a lot of rookies who had been hired just three months ago.

"Actually a few days before, but not by much." Mitch corrected. "I'm in criminalistics, crime scene analysis. They're still training me for field work. Hands-on experience, you know."

"No substitute." Maggie agreed. She gestured to the skin. "So what am I looking at here?"

Mitch lit up like this was the first time anyone had paid attention to him.

"Well _-_ \- Look. It's _just_ the skin. Just the dermal layer. There's no subcutaneous tissue, no blood vessels, no fat, no muscle, and I bet you there's no nerve endings either." he said. "It's like the skeleton just _popped_ out and took all the muscles and organs with him. There's no blood anywhere. It's like whoever this is just shed his skin like a snake or a crab and went out the window."

"Any chance of it being Mr. Rose?" James asked. A reasonable question to pose, considering who the lab belonged to. If no one could get a hold of him and his residence looked recently lived in, there was a good chance he had lied about his leave of absence in order to do something under the radar.

James had been around the "shady experiments" block a few times. A shady experiment was responsible for his existence. He knew how these things worked and this was already starting to take on a familiar shape.

Mitch shrugged. "I guess it's fifty-fifty. I mean, we shouldn't rule out anything, right? We should be able to get something off the fingerprints." He looked at the lieutenant hopefully. "What do you think happened?"

"Damned if I know." Maggie replied flatly. "I have seen some strange things in the last year, but this is a new one for me. For all I know, it's lizard people. They're supposed to exist, right?"

"I'd say those are wild paranoid rumors and I only deal in facts, but I'm staring at a pile of vacated human skin." Mitch said, his eyes popping open wide. " _Could_ be lizard people." he whispered to himself.

Maggie nodded. With the way things had been getting in the past three months alone, 'lizard people' was far from the whackiest things they had to consider. She looked up at Officer Harper.

"James, what's your rookie opinion?" she inquired.

"Well," James heaved out a steadying breath. "The first step of the scientific method is observe, followed by hypothesize _-_ -"

"Research." Mitch interrupted. He shifted uncomfortably when the senior officers looked a bit sharply at him. "S-Sorry, but the way I learned it, 'research' goes in between observe and hypothesize."

"Regardless," Maggie said dismissively. "James."

"Since I know fuck all about entomology, my opinion is based solely on what I have been told thus far and what I can observe from this room." James carried on, a bit more formally than usual like he was trying to make a more grandiose impression. "The entomologist who leases this lab, Roderick Rose, recently took a leave of absence to deal with some family trouble in Chicago. Except he has no family in Chicago and the contact number is a dud. His place of residence appears to have been recently lived in and there is no indication that he bothered to leave at all. What are some conclusions we can draw from that?"

"Shady research experiments!" Mitch chimed in, quite happy to leap onto the conspiracy theory bandwagon. "He wanted to perform an experiment that was shady as hell and no way could he get approval from his benefactors so he pretends to be out of town so he can do it without getting caught."

"Is that what we're up to now?" Maggie wondered rhetorically.

"I wasn't looking to jump that far in one leap." James said, looking at the young forensic tech.

Mitch backed down with a quiet: "Oh."

"We can conclude the possibility that Mr. Rose never actually left town. And yes, that does suggest he needed to operate on the sly. With no one looking for him, he had more freedom to move with impunity." James agreed. It was a very classic maneuver from scientists who were up to no good. He was really not liking the way this was shaping up.

"Assuming he needed the anonymity to conduct a questionable experiment, it'll take looking at his research to figure out what he was up to." Maggie pointed out, rising out of her crouch. "Likewise assuming he didn't destroy it in case of this exact scenario."

"Yeah... But what would he be working on that he'd end up shedding his skin like this?" Mitch wondered. "Assuming, I mean, that this skin does indeed belong to Mr. Rose." he added hastily. "Because it might not be."

James grimaced. Human experimentation was nothing but bad mojo. If Roderick Rose had done anything to a person that made them shed their skin, he was going to get a swift kick up the ass from all the Newsboys.

For that matter, what the fuck was an entomologist doing experimenting on people or himself anyways?

Maggie nodded. "First thing to do is verify the identity of the skin. You said the fingerprints are still intact?" She directed that question at Mitch.

"For the most part." the forensic tech nodded, gesturing to a rubbery-looking hand with his foot. "One or two looked like they might have been burned off, but the other eight are enough to get a close match. Do you, uh, want the results?"

"As quickly as you can get them to me." Maggie replied. "Who's your commanding officer?"

"Uh, Lieutenant Casey. Sara Casey. But I work under Sergeant Stephen Jorgenson. He's training me for field-work. Um, why?"

"Because my only forensic tech specializes in digital forensics, not criminalistics. The SCU could really use a man like you and I'm completely open to recruiting."

Mitch's jaw dropped in shock even as a smile tugged on the corner of his mouth. "Really?" he asked, his voice an excited squeak.

"Absolutely." Maggie assured him. "You'd have to stay in your current lab, for the moment. We don't get our new building for another two weeks. But are you interested?"

"Coming to work for the SCU?" Mitch squeaked, his face breaking into a big grin. "Can you make that happen? Like, can you really make that happen? 'Cause if you can, I'd love it! I just didn't think you'd be taking applications oh my god _really_?! _-_ -"

His babbling dissolved quickly into a squeal of delight as Maggie nodded some more.

"You'll need to fill out the transfer paperwork on your end, but I'll talk to your lieutenant to try and push the application through before the end of the week." she said, allowing a faint smile on her face. "For today, tell your sergeant that I'm tasking you to keep the SCU abreast of whatever results are turned up. Can you do that?"

Apparently too overwhelmed to speak, Mitch nodded fervently. This was his dream coming true. Practically from the second Superman had first appeared, he had wanted to switch over to the SCU because he'd known they get the weird and exciting superhero-related stuff. But he'd also figured that the SCU inundated with applications and transfer requests and Lieutenant Sawyer would have her pick of the litter and she wouldn't be looking at skinny forensic techs with three months of experience.

It was a joy to be proven wrong.

"Good." Maggie's smile broadened. "I'll leave you to your work, Coleman."

She stepped away from the husk of skin and gestured for James to follow her out of the lab. Behind them, Mitch grinned spectacularly and fiddled with his camera for a moment before kneeling back down, feeling more important than before.

"No one's lining up at the door, huh." James commented, once they were back in the hallway. He was behind the lieutenant's shoulder so she couldn't see his face, but Maggie suspected he was smirking.

"One person's more of a fluke than anything." she commented back. She turned to Sholin, still chatting with the officer. "Detective, are you in charge of this investigation?"

"Yes." Sholin drew himself up importantly.

"Then I have to ask you to turn over everything to the SCU within two hours." Maggie said. "All biological evidence will be processed by whatever lab Mitch Coleman, over there, works in since we don't have the facilities yet, but the digital evidence and the case-notes need to find their way into my office post-haste."

Sholin blinked, looking like he'd been caught wrong-footed. "Why?"

"It's been the SCU's case from the moment you Veitch'd it. It's in our jurisdiction now." Maggie explained, spreading her arms as if to say the whole thing wasn't her fault, that was just procedure. "We will need everything you've collected, including Mr. Rose's research and _excluding_ the biological evidence, in the next two hours." She turned and gestured to the interior of the lab. "The bugs themselves can stay here for a little longer, but we'll need a full inventory list. Can that be managed by your people?"

"Is there something wrong with your people that they can't do it?" Sholin wondered, sounding like he wanted to accuse the SCU of being lazy.

"I've got nine people outside the building today. Three on assignment, four doing their rounds, and two more following up on existing cases. Officer Harper here is with me. Do you know how many people that leaves me with?" Maggie held up the appropriate number of fingers. "Three people, Detective. My only forensic tech, my supervising captain, and my third, both of whom deal largely in administrative work so I don't have to. I _can_ leave Harper here, if that would make you feel better, but I should warn you that he is more of a beat cop than anything else.

"Or did you forget that the SCU is painfully under-staffed?"

Detective Sholin did his best not to gnaw on his lip or shift his weight or do anything to betray the sense of discomfort that swept through him briefly. Like a lot of the other detectives he worked with, he regarded the Special Crimes Unit as a pretty poor joke; a dead-end job for people who didn't have much to offer. What use were they in a city where the weird rarely happened?

Maggie knew exactly what was going through his head, because so many other people had said it. Sholin was far from the first and likely not to be the last for a while yet.

"Well, detective?" she prompted. "Shall I leave Officer Harper here to oversee the collection and transfer of the evidence?"

"Ah- No, that won't be necessary." Sholin said, clearing his throat and tugging absently at his tie. "We will have everything sent over in two hours and we'll let you know if it takes longer."

Maggie smiled pleasantly. "I wasn't making an offer to you." She turned to James. "Officer Harper, please stay to oversee the collection and transfer of the evidence. I'll be speaking to the head of science department regarding Mr. Rose and his activities. Alert me to anything important."

James's face stayed motionless, but the grin was in his eyes. "Yes ma'am, happy hunting."

Maggie gave a two-fingered salute in response to Detective Sholin muffled huff and turned away to leave. She wasn't going to take the chance that something important was going to be mysteriously misplaced somewhere between here and the SCU office, since that would just end up a big hassle that would leave no one happy. There was a pile of vacated human skin on the floor, an absent entomologist, and a whole lot of questions that were now her job to answer. If they wanted to get to the bottom of this, not a single thread of evidence could afford to slip through the SCU's fingers.

She sighed.

 _Just another day at the ol' grindstone._

* * *

-0-


	3. Code Veitch

So chapter 29 of my Flash origin story is finished and I started on chapter 30 yesterday. Fingers crossed it won't take two weeks to write. I think the writing pace might pick up a little. I'm through whatever bit of writer's block was dragging me down, so now I just need to nail myself to the wagon. Hold me accountable, guys; I'm saying it here. The goal is to finish the Flash origin story by the end of May, middle of June.

* * *

Chapter Three: Code Veitch

Detectives Leslie "Lee" Marzan and Greg Pittarese were the best kind of partners. They had clicked instantly, gelled quickly, and had a strong rapport that enabled them to have entire conversations with just their eyebrows.

So well they worked together that it surprised people to learn that they had only known each other for a few years.

The downside of having such a strong bond was that it was hard for them to work with anyone else. They did try, but they never operated as well or as efficiently as they did with each other. Not when they could interpret one another's intentions in less than a heartbeat and move with such fluid teamwork that they accidentally made the rest of the SCU look like beached manatees.

Marzan was formerly from Gotham, born there and raised there until she was seven, but she had never been a child of the city. Children of the city didn't think of Gotham as loud and dirty and crime-soaked. Children of the city spoke with irritated fondness for their home _-_ \- that even thought they thought ill of it and complained about it all the time, they could never bring themselves to leave. Detective Marzan had always wrinkled her nose in disgust when she commented on Gotham in more than passing terms and she couldn't have been more pleased the day she learned they would be moving.

That day had come when she was seven, for a laundry list of reasons that mostly ended in "crime rates" and "angry metahuman related protests". Her father had put in an application to transfer and they had uprooted to go live with some cousins for a while. She had grown up in Green Bay, Wisconsin after that. Metropolis hadn't been much of a leap to make from there.

Detective Pittarese hadn't come from much further afield. He had grown up in a small Minnesota town on the backwater roads, living the skull-crushingly boring kind of small town life where you looked back on your childhood and wondered how you hadn't died from lack of stimulation. The kind of town where the only thing to do on a Saturday night was to pace the streets with the other neighborhood kids you weren't really friends with (but it was better than being by yourself), hang around the all-night convenience store until the sheriff's deputy came by to shoo you away, and maybe give cow-tipping a try because you were just that desperate.

They had both come to Metropolis for the same reason _-_ \- or perhaps it was the reason that everyone had for moving to a city like Metropolis. It was a city of opportunity. A city of dreams. Of fresh starts and new chances and a high standard of living at half the price. A good college, a stable housing market, plenty of jobs to be found, and the promise of a life to be lived in the City of Tomorrow. The Midwest's answer to New York City.

Marzan and Pittarese had met in the police academy and they had been two peas in a pod from then on. They had exhibited a relentless work ethic and tireless persistence in getting the job done, earning them a few good notches in the belt that they could be proud of. They had been diligent with their patrols and thorough with their paperwork, but what they lacked, according to their commander, was ambition. Ambition to move upwards and out of the traffic department. To do more and give more and become more.

Ambition had been everything to Commander Hardison. He had always believed it was the very thing that separated a good cop from a great cop. Good cops did what they were told when they were told and never questioned things, but great cops desired more. The ones who had the push and the drive to rise above and beyond.

Because Marzan and Pittarese lacked the ambition that Hardison had craved from his subordinates, he had never wasted his time on them. He hadn't even made a token argument when Lieutenant Sawyer had come sniffing around for recruits to add to the SCU.

Lieutenant Sawyer had different expectations altogether. There was little room for ambition in the SCU, if only because there was nowhere to rise and getting a big head might be what got you killed. When the job was to find, track, and sometimes arrest the weird that happened in Metropolis, it was diligence, thorough-ness, and hard work that netted the best results. There wasn't a race to win and if a headstrong officer tried to treat it like that, then being severely hospitalized was the least of their worries.

There was a reason that Maggie Sawyer was thus far the longest-lasting commander of the SCU.

"And no chance they'd try replacing her." Marzan commented, for it was the exact topic they had been muttering about.

Pittarese made a humming noise. "You positive they wouldn't follow through?"

"Why would they? I mean, they're a little thick-headed, but they're not dumb enough to pull some power upset right now." Marzan pointed out, shrugging. "The weird shit's coming out of the seams all over the city and then you've got Superman running around or flying around or getting around or whatever. Look Greg, I'm saying that if the big cheese upstairs expects us to get through this without losing our heads, they're not gonna give us a new lieutenant that we don't know and set us back to square one. That's insane."

"Wouldn't be nothing they haven't done before. What if they think Lieutenant Sawyer isn't doing such a good job keeping all this under control?" Pittarese countered, waving a hand in a broad gesture that was meant to encompass the city. It was mostly behind them now; they were so far north into Metrodale they were nearly outside of it. Out of patrol, keeping an eye open for their particular brand of trouble. "They've replaced other commanders for less. Remember what happened to Captain Eckhaus? Fast road to the top, that man, but he was riding a flying carpet, but then they just _-_ -"

He made a shushing noise and mimed whipping away an invisible sheet.

"I know. Everybody knows. Poor bastard." Marzan said softly, while her partner hummed in agreement. Captain Eckhaus had taken a fall so hard it was difficult not to suspect it had been orchestrated.

"But they'd be shootin' themselves in the foot if they try and replace Lieutenant Sawyer right now." she went on, firm in her opinion. "We're doing _good_. Good as you can expect. Nothing will kill that faster than changing command right in the middle."

"Lee, you're not hearing what I'm saying." Pittarese started entreatingly. "We haven't got this metahuman thing figured out. What if _-_ -"

"No, no, I hear what you're sayin' Greg, I do, but _no one's_ got this metahuman thing figured out! Least of all the brass!" Marzan pointed out, a little shrilly. "It's old territory, but there's no damn map anymore! They buried _everything_ after the Scare. All of the records and procedures and whatnot. All of that is stuck under lock and key in some dusty old storage facility _-_ \- probably under Vegas. Lord knows the mountains of paperwork we'd have to chisel through to get what we need out of storage and we can't wait as long as it takes! What **I'm** saying is that they're not going to replace Lieutenant Sawyer while she's still writing the new handbook."

"Yeah, no, they'll wait 'til she's done." Pittarese commented.

"Greg..." Marzan started in a weary tone, but she didn't have anything fresh to say. This wasn't the first time they had tread this ground.

Pittarese made a 'harrumph' noise that indicated he wasn't as confident about the assessment as she was, but he didn't know how to frame his half of the argument. He knew what Marzan was saying, but he had seen the superiors pull some really petty power-play bullshit whenever it suited them.

The way he saw it, one of two things were going to happen. One: the commanders would look at Lieutenant Sawyer's record and declare that she had done such a good job at whipping the SCU into shape that they were going to reward her by giving her a better command. Or two: they would declare that the lack of immediate success was a sign of her incompetence and have her shuffled off down the chain until she was stuck behind a desk in a dark hole.

It would happen because the commanders would see her as a threat and the goal would be to either get her out of the way or put her into a position where she didn't have nearly the leeway that the SCU granted her.

Regardless of the reasoning, the SCU would get stuck with someone who wouldn't be able to remotely emulate what their lieutenant could do.

That was what Pittarese was worried about. He just wasn't articulate enough to make it a well-framed argument.

Instead, he asked:

"So, what do you think of Superman?"

Marzan shrugged and drummed her hands on the steering wheel.

"C'mon, you gotta have some opinion."

"I don't have one. I don't really care." Marzan admitted, shrugging again. "Until he's got something to do with me, why _should_ I care?"

She might have left the city a long time ago, but some of Gotham's influence still clung to her.

"Lee, _come on_ , this is the biggest thing to happen in twenty years! Right in the middle of our backyard, no less!" Pittarese stressed, turning in the passenger's seat to better face her. "Metropolis has got itself a superhero now!"

"That's nice, but really, what's he got to do with me?" Marzan asked.

"Well, you're no fun." Pittarese grumbled, shaking his head at her total lack of enthusiasm. "You really got nothing on him?"

"Not until he saves my life."

"He saved the entire city! You saying that doesn't count as saving _your_ life by default?"

Marzan just smiled.

"Well, I don't need him to save my life personally just to think highly of him." Pittarese said, crossing his arms like he was expecting a challenge. "He saved the city, _twice_. That's good enough for me."

"You're gonna fanboy on me, aren't you."

"I see nothing wrong with enthusiastic appreciation."

"Is there even a difference between enthusiastic appreciation and hero worship?"

"There is absolutely a difference."

"Oh really? Then enlighten me."

"Aha, prepare to be schooled." Pittarese straightened his shirt collar absently. "Appreciation is an understanding. When you understand, you're able to recognize the good and the bad. Hero worship, however, is blind. It happens when you refuse to see them in anything but the best possible light, deny that they have flaws and are human-"

"Superman isn't human." Marzan interrupted, a shiver in her voice as she said it.

And there was the rub, she felt. Superman was many things, including human-shaped, but he wasn't _human_. He was a refugee from a destroyed planet somewhere deep in space and good god y'all if there hadn't been serious panic after the interview had gone public.

There hadn't been exactly chaos in the streets and doomsday signs being held aloft (meaning the whole reaction hadn't met even Clark's best-case scenario), but the buzz had been deafening. It had been all anyone had talked about for a week until they had exhausted every possible question. Fears had been assuaged, more or less, when the _Daily Planet_ released a second interview (courtesy of Lois Lane) that pointedly addressed what people were most worried about and General Sam Lane did exactly as he had offered, publically sticking his neck out to back Superman up.

With that, people returned to their daily lives without feeling like they needed to glance to the sky for any sign of the mothership.

There was still an undercurrent of tension and nervousness, because just like that, humankind had learned they were no longer alone in the universe. There may have been others from the planet, those who had survived as well.

And if there had been just one planet full of sentient alien life, there must have been other planets.

There was still a general sense of _'Now what?'_

"He's not going to kill us, Lee." Pittarese said, confident enough in that opinion, at least. "He's not going to kill any of us. He was pretty clear on that in both interviews."

Marzan made a " _harrumph_ " noise similar to his own, one that meant the same thing. She wanted to argue, but she couldn't come up with the words that would frame the argument eloquently. Rather than attempt to argue, she guided the car through a left turn and took them into the next patrol zone.

There was an industrial warehouse belt stretching up the west side of Metrodale and outwards to the train depot. Its presence did nothing to bolster Metrodale's flagging economy because the people who worked in those warehouses lived and spent their paychecks somewhere else.

Close to the river front and the train depot, everything was pretty modern and well-trafficked and occupied most hours of the day and night. But the further north you went from the river-front, the seedier and emptier it got until many of the lots were abandoned and derelict. The city had yet to pull down any of the empty buildings. This made them prime real estate for anyone with shady intentions and so it was on the two detectives' patrol route.

"We still getting any calls from this area?" Marzan wondered, peering cautiously at the dilapidated buildings.

"Not to my knowledge." Pittarese answered, feeling a little nervous himself. This wasn't a very good side of town for cops and with the increasing visibility of metahumans, it was more than a little dangerous.

"Then why do we still patrol it?" Marzan wondered.

"Gotta keep up a presence. Let 'em know we're around. Cuts down the funny business."

"I don't think any metas are going to stop their funny business just because they see a squad car."

Marzan tried not to slow down or speed up, though the urge to do both was certainly there. They had to patrol the area at a pace that was both slow enough to see if there was anything going on, yet fast enough to arrive in time in case there was something going on. It was tough to find that balance.

It was a good thing she was only going thirty because someone scrambled nearly right in front of the car and the only thing Marzan could think to do was stomp on the brakes and hope for the best. The tires squealed, Pittarese yelped and braced himself on the dashboard, and the girl (identifiable even in a split second) froze in the middle of the street like a deer and flung her hands out. Marzan saw the faintest shimmer of blue-ish light before _-_ -

 ***CRUNCH***

And the front fender impacted with something as hard and solid as a brick wall, kicking the car back and setting off the siren in a brief warbling whistle. Braced as they were, the two detectives' heads didn't bounce on the steering wheel or the dashboard, but the rebound was certainly going to leave them with whiplash.

"What the hell?!" Pittarese bellowed, more out of reflex than anything.

Both detectives looked up to see what they had hit _-_ \- which, as far as they knew, shouldn't have been anything at all. This road was straight and wide and not given to having unexpected obstacles in the middle of it.

But apparently, the unexpected had decided to start happening in even more unanticipated ways.

Directly in front of the car was a semi-translucent wall made entirely of blue-ish light. Thin wispy strands of the same color connected the wall back to the girl who had dashed into the road. She was black, her hair in wild disarray, and her eyes wide with fright. Blood streaked her forehead and dribbled down the side of her face, her spread palms scraped and skinned, and her hoodie torn open along the sleeves like she had ripped herself free from someone holding her.

"Meta? Is that a meta?" Pittarese whispered.

"Force fields!" Marzan whispered back excitedly. "Look at that! She can generate force fields!"

Pittarese whistled, nodding.

The girl clearly didn't share their delight or enthusiasm. When it finally registered that she was seeing a police car, she yelped and _shoved_ the car back several feet. The locked tires skidded on the asphalt, but it gave the girl the cushion of space she wanted and then she _bolted_. Took off down road, arms and legs churning furiously. She moved with something of a limp, like she had turned an ankle once already. The forcefield dissapated with her absence.

"Wait!" Marzan shouted suddenly, fighting with the door catch. "Wait! Wait a minute!"

She threw the door open and tried to jump out, but in her haste, she forgot that she was still buckled in.

"Ow! Dammit!" The detective yanked off the seatbelt and scrambled out of the squad car. "Greg, c'mon! C'mon, we need to see what's going on with her!"

And she took off after the girl without waiting to see if her partner would follow.

"I'm coming, I'm coming."

Pittarese undid his seatbelt and got out of the car, sighing heavily. So much for the uneventful patrol he had been hoping for. So much for not exerting himself anymore than necessary. But he set off in Marzan's footsteps anyways. Pittarese might have lacked ambition, according to his former commander, but he took his job seriously. He honored his badge with a commendable dedication. No one was above the law, but certainly _no one_ was exempt from its protection.

Within seconds, Marzan had hit a brisk sprint that Pittarese fought to catch up with. Of the two of them, Marzan was by far the superior runner. Lean and whipcord thin and carrying far less weight than her partner's cannonball physique.

"Catch up!" she shouted over her shoulder.

"I'm going as fast as I can!" Pittarese shot back, though he endeavored to move his legs a little faster. It was embarrassing, really, he should have been in better shape than this.

It still wasn't fast enough to catch up with the black girl, who was ten yards ahead and gaining ground. Marzan rolled her eyes and pushed ahead. If she hung back and let Pittarese keep pace, they would lose the girl. It wasn't just that she was a meta, but she was also in some sort of trouble. Marzan took her badge as seriously as her partner did.

Protect and serve.

Marzan lengthened her stride, poured on the speed, and started to close the gap.

"Hey!" she called out, when she was sure that she was close enough to be heard. "Wait, we're not going to hurt you! We're here to help! You can stop running! We're not going to hurt you!"

"When does that ever work?" Pittarese shouted from behind his partner. "Ye gods woman, look at her! She's a black girl and we're the cops! Of course she's running!"

"And she's all bloody! I'm concerned!"

However, the foot-chase ended not long after it had started. The black girl was already worn down from her previous frantic scramble that had taken her into the middle of the street and she didn't have the stamina to out-run the much fresher police detective. The limp becoming more pronounced and her breathing reduced to gasps, she veered out of the middle of the road and onto the mud-and-grass median. She staggered a little, bending over at the waist and coughing.

Marzan caught up a few moments later, stopping at least ten feet away at the curb. She had been thoroughly drilled on the art of approaching uncooperative or agitated individuals. The main tenant was to give them space so they didn't feel threatened and otherwise close the gap slowly if possible. The girl was bound to be both a little uncooperative and agitated. Those force fields of hers would make this situation a little trickier than most.

She on the high side of fourteen. State of her hair and clothes and shoes suggested that she had been living rough for a little while now. Not homeless _-_ \- she didn't display that particular form of desperation that came with belly-pinching hunger and thirst, nor did she have that rangy semi-feral look Marzan had seen on street kids. There was a line of neat stitches holding the hems of her jeans together and the rest of her clothes were in decent condition despite the recently inflicted damage. It seemed there was someone looking after her.

But definitely living rougher than one person oughta.

Probably a Metrodale kid, which was an assumption that anyone could have made with a long enough glance. Metrodale was among the poorest neighborhoods in the city. In particular, Metrodale had the highest rate of poverty among people of color and the neighborhood itself looked like a clone of Camden, New Jersey. All cracked pavement and dilapidated housing that no one should have to live in.

The girl was probably a scavenger, trawling through the warehouses for left-over wiring and metal that could be sold and re-purposed. Good scrap metal was worth something on Metropolis's underground market. No time to go to school _-_ \- that was for people who weren't on the edge of being evicted. This was the sort of girl looking to scrap together a few bucks here and there through semi-honest means to help her parents with the bills.

It wasn't exactly a blind guessing game.

Marzan's foot crunched on gravel. The black girl's head snapped up and so did an arm. Blue-ish light flashed around her, forming a protective bubble.

"Don't even think about that gun, copper! I seen thing make bullets bounce off!" the girl warned in between heaving breaths, waving her hand to indicate the bubble.

"My hands are up here." Marzan said, raising them. Her SIG Sauer was visible on her thigh. In reflection, she probably should have left it in the car, but she had barely remembered to get her seat belt off.

"Whaddya want? Why you chasin' me?!" the black girl demanded. Her voice echoed slightly from underneath the energy field.

"Just want to see if you're okay. I'm Lee, that's Greg." Marzan said, gesturing to Pittarese still coming up the road. "We're with the SCU _-_ \- That's Special Crimes Unit. We were just on patrol _-_ -"

"You go after metas or somethin'?" the girl snapped. She looked triumphant. "Yeah, I heard it! All that talk, you SCU pigs round up metas whether we done something or not! I done nothing!"

"We're not here to arrest you. The SCU isn't in the business of rounding up metahumans like it's the Third Reich." Marzan said calmly. "We're the good kind of police. We only arrest those who are actually breaking the law."

The teenage girl shifted from one foot to the other. Indecision flitted across her face and she glanced from Marzan over to Pittarese who had just huffed up to the curb. He stopped over, hands on his knees, shoulders heaving with every breath.

"Am I bein' detained?" the teenager asked.

"No, of course not. You're free to leave at any time." Marzan assured her. "If it's alright, we would like to ask you a few questions. What's your name?"

The teenager's hand dropped a little and the force field retreated a few inches. She shifted again and then said: "Violet."

"Hullo, Violet." Pittarese straightened up, beaming his non-threatening Jolly Green Giant smile. "Detectives Marzan and Pittarese, from the Met P.D. Special Crimes Unit. But you've been told that already, I bet."

"We'd just like to ask you a few questions." Marzan repeated gently. "You look like you've been attacked." she added, nodding to the scraped forehead and ripped-up hoodie sleeves.

Violet made a hesitant shrug. Her protective force field retreated another couple of inches.

"There was a thing." she said, touching her forehead.

"Are you all right? Would you like us to get a doctor out here first?" Marzan inquired.

"No! No, I'm okay! I'm okay, _really_." Violet insisted, looking more alarmed by the idea of an ambulance than of the two cops standing in front of her. "There was just this _-_ \- I got scared more than anything. I got away!"

"Can you describe your attacker? Age, gender, height, weight?" Pittarese asked, feeling around his pockets. "I've got a notepad in here somewhere, just a minute..."

"It wasn't a man! It was a thing!" Violet burst out, throwing her hands up. The action caused her force field to drop completely. "It was this big, ugly _-_ \- _centipede_! Like six seven feet long with a billion legs and these nasty pincers on _both ends-_ -!"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down!" Marzan flapped a hand until the girl subsided into silence. "What do you mean a centipede attacked you?"

"It was a fuckin' centipede. Or _-_ \- Or it looked like one." Violet said with the air of one who was elaborating. "Look, it weren't no man who got the drop on me. It was some big-ass nasty bug the size of a car."

Pittarese and Marzan shared a long look, their eyebrows alone communicating their mutual disbelief. Science had proven that it was no longer biologically possible for insects to grow to any such monstrous sizes. The oxygen content of the atmosphere had thinned out since those days and couldn't support that sort of growth. Any talk of seven-foot long centipedes was surely a bogus claim.

But who were they to decide what was bogus anymore? 'Weird' had been the name of the game for Metropolis these past few weeks. And _anything_ seemed up for grabs. Superman was from outer space. Three months ago, a dimensional portal had opened up over their very own city. In Central and Keystone Cities was Zoom, who could run at the speed of sound and faster. History was full of seemingly impossible people and occurrences. The Justice Society and everything they had gotten up to, in war-time and out of it. A multitude of things that defied what was accepted as normal.

So a giant centipede?

Couldn't have been that far off the map.

"Are you sure?" Pittarese asked Violet.

" _Yes_." The black girl nodded emphatically. She shook her arms, the ripped sleeves flapping. "I didn't do this to myself. You don't believe me!"

"Hang on, we never said anything like that." Marzan said, shaking her head. "This is new to us too, all this about aliens and metahumans. We're still trying to get used to it ourselves."

"Just your luck, though, we're the SCU." Pittarese said proudly, pointing a thumb at his chest. "Our job is to investigate the weird stuff. Like giant centipedes. And then we take care of it."

"Can you show us where you saw it?" Marzan asked.

"You sure you wanna check out this kind of weird-ass bullshit?" Violet wondered, eyeing the two detectives askance. Her gaze flitted particularly over Pittarese's rotund belly. "I mean, I'd barely believe me if I were in your shoes."

"Yeah, well..." Pittarese shrugged, holding his hands out like _what can you do_. "We have to investigate every claim or rumor we receive, no matter how crazy or off the wall it sounds. It's in our job handbook. So you say 'giant centipede', we say 'where'."

Violet bit her lip and for a moment, it looked like she might run the other way rather than show them anything. Too many sour encounters with past cops. She was used to getting dropped like a hot potato, dismissed for being black. And the _content_. If someone had run up to her and started babbling about giant centipedes, she wouldn't believe them either.

But these were the good kind of cops. Maybe they didn't believe her, but they _were_ listening.

The moment passed and she visibly gathered herself together.

"Okay." She nodded. "Okay, it's back this way."

She led them back up the road to where they had left the squad car _-_ \- Pittarese swept an eye over the front of the car; there was some damage to the fender, but nothing that couldn't be banged out _-_ \- and to the side-street she had sprinted out of.

"It was down that way, in that one." Violet said, pointing to the second warehouse on the right. The side-door was still hanging open. "I was _-_ \- uh... doin' _stuff_. Minding my own business when I started hearin' this tapping, like a bird walking on metal or something. Thought it was all my imagination and then I heard this other sound like skittering."

"Skittering... Like?..." Marzan prompted.

Violet shrugged. "I dunno, I guess like a bird runnin' on metal. This shuffling noise, like what feathers do." she explained, or made an effort to. "Started to freak me out anyways, so I was going to leave and I _saw_ that ugly mother. It grabbed me b'fore I could make it to the door and tried to drag me off, but I pushed it away and bolted and then...!"

"And then here we are." Pittarese finished. "Where did you see it?"

"I guess about twenty, thirty feet in, straight from the door. I dropped my bag when it grabbed me." Violet said. "D'you think you could get it for me?"

"We'll grab it." Pittarese said. He looked up at his partner. "Think it's still in there?"

Marzan shrugged. "Could be."

They eyed the open doorway for a long moment. The door was old, partially rusted, and swinging in the gentle breeze. These buildings had been empty and abandoned for coming up fifteen years now and they were old red brick structures dating back to the fifties. The windows that hadn't been shattered were cracked and clouded over, thick with grime. Metropolis experienced some terrific weather, especially during the winter when the snow was measured in feet, not inches. After a decade of winters with no maintenance, there was no telling what condition the roof was in.

"We'll check it out." Marzan decided. She started to loosen the holster straps on her gun. "We're going to do a quick sweep, in and out. Shouldn't be more than five minutes. Violet?"

"Yeah, what?"

"I want you to go wait by the car. Or in it, if you'd like. If we're not back within ten minutes, get on the horn, give the dispatcher your name and location, and then tell them it's a ten seventy-eight, possible ten zero-zero."

"Okay." Violet nodded. "What do those mean?"

"Officer needs assistance, and officer down, respectively." Pittarese informed her, unstrapping his SIG as well. "If what almost got you doesn't get to us, it'll be the roof caving in that does it."

"That's comforting." the teenager muttered.

"Just go wait by the car, please." Marzan said.

Violet made a grumbling noise like she wholly disagreed with the proposed course of action (she did) and further expressed her dislike for the situation by stomping off exactly like any teenager would. Marzan and Pittarese unhooked their flashlights from their belts and ventured up to the open door.

The warehouse interior was about what one could expect. The ceiling soared to a vaulted point forty feet above their heads and the other end was nearly a quarter of a mile away, where Marzan could just make out the main doors in between the still-upright load bearing pillars. The concrete floor was chipped and cracked, littered with debris that included glass bottles, condom wrappers, and chunks of crumbly brick. There was actually an entire level _below_ the ground _-_ \- an open-cut sub-basement that gaped more like a hole in the floor than anything. The stairs that had accessed it had collapsed.

A lot had been left behind, most of it just too big and too heavily bolted in to walk off with. There were tall cylindrical structures that may have been old blast furnaces. Smelting furnaces burned nearly black from years of use were set into the floor. Enormous graphite crucibles still hung from the sturdy gantry cranes, and they creaked and swayed though there wasn't a breeze. Great long troughs ran from end to end and back again. And other big machines that they couldn't have possibly guessed the name or function of _-_ \- many of which had been broken open and stripped of whatever useful material a scavenger could find.

"What did they used to do here?" Marzan wondered, shining the flashlight across the closest row of smelting furnaces.

"Steel production, I think." Pittarese answered. His knowledge of the city's industrial history was very spotty, but it looked like an old steel mill. "They must have taken down the cooling towers after it was shut down."

"Uh, how far in do you want to go?" Marzan asked.

They would never be able to sweep the entire building inside their ten-minute window; it would have taken that long just to jog to the other end without stopping to look. As it was, there were too many dark corners for someone to hide in. For two people to thoroughly sweep the building would be a several-hour job.

"Let's go to where Violet dropped her bag and see what we've got." Pittarese suggested.

A twenty to thirty foot walk in straight from the door, as Violet had said. Marzan had to admit that there wasn't much to see. There wasn't much natural light coming in through the windows, leaving great swathes of shadow across the floor. Eerie lighting distorted the outlines and made innocuous things like a tad more ominous than they oughta.

It might have been interesting to someone else, to walk in between the troughs and the blast furnaces and to look up at the huge crucibles big enough for several men and just _marvel_ at it all. But Marzan had never really been one for urban exploration. She had no idea how steel mills operated and the rusting metal hulks didn't illuminate the process. All she saw was a whole lot of rusting equipment that could get someone killed.

 _Why didn't they chain the doors up?_ She wondered. _Or maybe they did and someone took a pair of bolt cutters to it._

That was always the way it was, no matter what city you lived in. Chain up a door and it was like inviting someone to come at it with bolt cutters and lock-picks just to prove that nothing was impervious.

Something went ***click*click*click***

Like little claws tapping on metal.

Marzan whipped around, bringing her gun and the flashlight to bear. The beam bounced between two furnaces, but there was nothing there except for another row of troughs and furnaces.

"Lee?" Pittarese nudged her.

"Did you hear that? I heard something." Marzan said.

The man shrugged. "I didn't hear anything."

"It came from over there." she said, starting for the gap between the furnaces.

"Hey, let's not split up. Do you know how easy it would be to get lost in here?" Pittarese made a motion for his partner to come back, but Marzan's attention was locked on the dark patch on the other side. "Lee!"

"I'll just be a minute." Marzan informed him, stepping between the furnaces. "I'm going to take a quick look over here and then I'll meet you on the other side, okay?"

"Okay, just watch yourself. Stay within earshot." Pittarese instructed. Marzan nodded and disappeared behind the huge bulk of the furnace without a word.

Honestly, though, he would much prefer that they stay within line of sight with each other. It would be much too easy to get lost in a place like this, dark like it was. And with the state of things around here, injuries caused by something collapsing was much too likely.

He spotted a lumpy something laying under one of the troughs another few meters up and he shone the flashlight on it. It was a faded floral backpack that had seen better days. The top flap hadn't quite closed over and there were bits of metal and wire poking out.

"Hey Lee, I found that girl's bag." Pittarese said loudly, his voice echoing. He went over to pick it up. "Come back over here, we'll check around _-_ -"

 ***click*click*click***

He straightened up with a jolt. The sound of clicking didn't fade, but echoed from every direction. Hard nails tapping off metal and concrete, circling around his position. It was accompanied by a shuffling noise like insect wings brushing together.

Then it stopped.

Silence descended.

"What the hell?..." Pittarese whispered.

The sounds had come and gone so quickly he wasn't entirely sure he had heard it. He waved the flashlight around, the beam dancing over the furnaces and the troughs and the casting molds. But he only illuminated dust and cobwebs, and a few roaches skittered away from the light.

"Lee?" Pittarese called out softly, not daring to raise his voice very high. "Did you hear that? Lee?"

There was no reply.

"Lee?"

Pittarese shuffled away from the bag and around to the other side of the furnaces where Marzan should have emerged. He brought his gun to bear, just in case, and eased around the far side of the furnace.

"Hey, Lee, you there?"

He peered around the rusted metal hulk, lighting up the dusty murk on the other side. Particles of dust and who knew what else floated in and out of the flashlight beam. But there was no trace of Marzan. Where she oughta have been was nothing at all.

Not her gun.

Not her flashlight

Not a single thing from her belt.

She was just...

Gone.

"Oh... fuck..."

Fear and adrenaline trickled into Pittarese's limbs. The bad kind of adrenaline that would make him freeze in place. The kind that wouldn't let him react quickly. The kind that slowed down everything, for even as he told himself that he needed to leave, to turn around and run back to the car and declare an emergency, his legs just wouldn't move.

The gantry chains creaked, the crucibles swayed, and _something_ skittered down from a catwalk above him. The dry shuffling ***click*click*click*** came again. This time, Pittarese saw a long, many-legged form descending across the furnaces towards him. Something with pincers half as long as his arm and glittering ruby red eyes, and a incisor-filled maw that dripped with a liquid he could only hope was just saliva.

"Oh fuck! Oh _fuck_!"

The detective raised his gun and fired.

* * *

-0-

alternatively, this chapter could be called "Death to the Redshirts"


	4. Denial

Go me, chapter 30 didn't take two weeks to eke out. Definitely moving a little more smoothly now. I started chapter 31 yesterday and I might finish it by late tonight. Here's hoping I can keep up the momentum. I feel like the Flash story might be a little shorter than I originally predicted, but I'll wait and see how these next few chapters go.

* * *

Chapter Four: Denial

It was one of those nice apartment neighborhoods in Highville with window-boxes of flowers and exterior paint that was refreshed every summer. The kind where you could walk down the street and imagine that nothing untoward happened behind closed doors. Quaint, homely, and the place of residence for a man with the meta-power of detachable body parts.

Apparently, any body part.

Any as he damn well pleased.

The case had quickly escalated to levels of _disturbing_ that Colletta hadn't been previously acquainted with.

"I'm starting to laugh hysterically whenever people tell me that Metropolis is normal." she confessed to Detective Jones, as they approached their destination on foot. There had been no good parking in front of the building, so they had parked around the block.

"Are you?" Jones commented.

It was noncommittal, but it prompted her to go on.

"Yeah. It's just starting to sound really hilarious. Here we are with a spankin' new superhero, a man with literal wandering hands, spontaneous eyeball manifestation, small children flinging themselves into the air higher than small children normally go, and people like my room-mate will still look me straight in the eye and say in a completely serious voice: 'Metropolis is normal'.

"You know how they always say that Metropolis is like the white bread cousin of Gotham? The slightly repressed-gay middle American polo shirt vanilla latte skim milk aesthetic."

"I admit I have not heard that one before." Jones said. An interesting turn of phrase. And if he wasn't mistaken, quite an accurate description regarding the nature of the city.

"I spend too much time around Lois Lane." Colletta said. "Let me see if I can remember this verbatim... She said... New York is like punk rock rye bread pastrami Prince Albert piercings concrete and steel fuggedaboudit." Her inability to mimic the drawl of a New York City accent dampened the delivery of the iconic phrase. "And then you've got Gotham, all emo screamo gothic Victorian scene club strobe light blood rave burnt toast aesthetic. The wild freaky pansexual cousin covered in tattoos with a bifurcated tongue and spiky piercings in alarming places who will make out with the back end of a chainsaw just to prove a point."

"Ms. Lane certainly has a way with words." Jones commented.

"And she's right." Colletta said, nodding as though this sage observation had come from the Pope himself. "Metropolis is wholesome white bread that you make fluffer-nutter sandwiches with. Middle-class, middle America, Midwest, nothing ever happens out here. We're like Central City. We're a nice place to live. Metropolis has spent _decades_ being the opposite end of the spectrum. _Dedicated_ to being uptight and law-abiding and being a sterling example of clean living and clean thinking. We're the Percy Weasley to Gotham's Fred and George, know what I'm saying?"

"What exactly are you trying to say?" the detective wondered. He could read minds and he wasn't sure he had actually followed any of that. It was, at best, word vomit.

"Hang on, I'm working up to a point." Colletta assured him. "We're like that innocent, stamp-collecting, cabbage husbandry nebblish neighbor who has his pants stuffed into his socks and looks completely normal and boring. Then you find out he's got some kind of porn dungeon theme in his basement and you're blown away by this wild new dimension."

"Ah." Jones finally happened across the point. "Denial, Officer Kanigher. The word you're looking for is 'denial'."

"Exactly!" Colletta snapped her fingers. "But that's the thing. Metropolis isn't going to _stay_ the slightly repressed-gay middle American polo shirt vanilla latte skim milk aesthetic. Not at the rate things are happening! All of this crazy stuff is going down right in front of the eyes of the nation and the general public is taking one look at it and going 'I don't know, I suddenly can't see'."

"Adjustment is always a hard thing to come by." Jones said wisely. "These people you speak of. They can see the city _-_ \- the world changing around them and it scares them in ways they've never previously fathomed. In defense, they pretend that it's not happening. They know what is going on, but being willfully blind helps them get on with their lives in a typical fashion."

"Metropolis isn't _normal_ anymore, John." Colletta stated in a tone of dire impending doom.

"And they will come to accept that one day. Just not by the end of the week."

"Are you saying it's going to take another round of Armageddon roulette for them to come to their senses?"

"Only in a very extreme case."

They arrived at the front door of the apartment building. The lobby contained an unmanned security desk and an old soda vending machine that hummed loudly. On the third floor lived Randy Banks, he of the detachable body parts. Whether this was an ability he had discovered within the last year or one he had decided to start using openly, it didn't matter. The point was that Mr. Banks's hands had been getting frisky without his supervision, his legs had a tendency to go for walks by themselves, and his lips had gone out to do their best Rolling Stones impression.

Which had brought the SCU to his doorstep a few weeks ago.

This was Colletta and Detective Jones's fourth (and hopefully final) time paying Mr. Banks a visit. They had collected all the eyewitness accounts, then verified Mr. Banks' ability and the frankly disturbing extent to which he had utilized his powers (Colletta wasn't quite having nightmares about it, but it was clear the images weren't going to abandon her psyche any time soon). Mr. Banks could quite literally fall to pieces and pull himself back together.

The two cops arrived at his apartment just off the stairwell and knocked on the door. Without glancing at each other, they both adopted a formidable disposition, shoulders squared and chins high. Mr. Banks had been a bit aggressive the last time they had come a-calling. Colletta was a short but powerful five-foot-six with a green belt in kickboxing. John Jones was actually less of a powerhouse. Tall, black, and bald with a heavy brow, he demonstrated less physical strength than his fellow officer. The purpose of his slightly too large trench coat was to give the opposite impression.

He made up for it, without a doubt, by being the only metahuman in the SCU.

A moment later, Randy Banks opened the door and rolled his eyes. Thankfully, they and all his other visible body parts were still attached. He was a short man with a slight beer paunch and general air of ill-tempered bitterness like he was always looking to pick a fight. He managed to look like exactly the sort of person you'd expect to find with an extensive porn collection. A bit scruffy and slightly unwashed, looking like a pile of dirty towels.

"Ugh, you two again." he groaned. "I'm gettin' real tired of seeing your faces around here."

"It's up to you how many more times we're over for coffee." Jones said. He extracted a thick envelope from his coat pocket and presented it to the man. "We are delivering a court-ordered cease-and-desist with regards to your meta-powers. The full details are inside, but in short, you are no longer permitted casual use of your ability to detach your body parts, particularly in public."

"What?!" Mr. Banks yelped. He colored red in the cheeks and crossed his arms. "So this is what it is? I'm being ordered not to use my own powers?"

"In the privacy of your own home, you're free to do whatever you want. But in public? Mr. Banks, that's what got you into this mess in the first place." Colletta informed him. "A dozen women have agreed not to sue the pants right off your backside so long as you comply with the terms of the cease-and-desist. You're also no longer allowed to set foot in any Global Fitness gym for the next two years."

"Oh, I see. That's what it is. That's what we're back to." Mr. Banks started with the tone of the paranoid. "Suppressing someone's god-given right to use what nature gave them as they see fit! I see the meta-police are _finally_ back in action after all these years!"

He snatched the envelope from Jones's hand and swung it dramatically like he was going to slap them with it. Colletta shifted back reflexively. While she doubted that the swing would intentionally connect, there was still the chance that Mr. Banks would mis-judge the position of his arm, considering how easily they seemed to come off.

"Have you assholes given one of these to Superman yet? Tell _him_ to stop using his powers? He's using his powers openly and I don't see anyone trying to arrest him! He's no damn super-hero! What makes him special enough for protection from the spook police?!"

The two cops shared a long-suffering look. They had delivered more than one cease-and-desist or cautionary warning or arrest warrant (as needed) to other metahumans and each time, they had gotten the same reaction: _What about Superman_?

It was starting to look like the SCU would have to give some kind of public explanation about why they weren't arresting Superman or otherwise handing him some sort of court-ordered warning.

"Like many others before you, Mr. Banks, you seem to have missed the most obvious difference between you and Superman." Jones began. He didn't lean in or step closer, but his posture definitely started to _loom_. "Superman is not hanging around women's gym locker rooms and using his x-ray vision to spy on them in the shower."

"He's not using his powers to get his rocks off." Colletta added. "The SCU has delineations between heroes, criminals, and mugs like you using your powers for jollies. Superman is, in the most basic sense of the word, a hero. He is not using his powers to break open bank vaults or to facilitate fapping, but rather for altruistic purposes that have actually saved lives. People are calling him a hero because he done good, son. You're just a gross little creep."

"Hey! _-_ -" The tendons in Mr. Banks's neck bulged outward for a second like he was physically preventing himself from saying something derogatory. He settled for shaking a fist. "Look, I have rights!"

"Yes, but so do the showering women you've been peeping on in the gym for the past eight months. They have a right to privacy and you're stepping all over that like it's no big deal hey check out my detachable penis! Is that where this is going?" Colletta demanded, snapping a little. She pointed at the cease-and-desist order. "That right there is the city's warning to you. Cut out the spying before you do something that really lands you in hot water and then long periods spent in jail. Because let me tell you something, Mr. Banks. Without getting into the messy business of sexual assualt and public indecency, think _real hard_ what might happen if your penis goes out for a wild night on the town and then _doesn't come back_."

She leaned in a little.

"That's _my_ warning to you."

Mr. Banks swallowed audibly while his face drained of most of its color. His beady gray eyes flickered between Colletta's scowling, threatening expression and Jones's almost Buddha-serene one that was somehow just as bad. It was as though the other man was suggesting that he would pleasantly step to the side while Colletta let the fists fly.

And honestly, on the behalf of the dozen women who'd found a pair of disembodied eyeballs peeping on them in the gym shower, she would have socked Mr. Banks in the face right away. But Metropolis frowned on police brutality.

"Mr. Banks, do you understand the reason you have been issued this court-order?" Jones asked calmly.

"Y-Yes." the peeping tom said.

"Please say it out loud." Jones requested.

"I _-_ \- I've been served a cease-and desist because I've been using my powers to spy on showering women and now I'm not supposed to." Mr. Banks said, sounding like admitting it out loud had caused him some pain.

"You were never supposed to in the first place." Colletta muttered.

"Please read the full text and sign the form at the end. It is to be turned into the judge by the end of the Friday business day." Jones instructed. "Mr. Banks, I suggest you simply be grateful that you are not being sued. However, if you resume your spying activities, I can make no guarantee about your legal protection. There is no Department of Metahuman Affairs for you to turn to. Please remember that. Have a good day."

They left him standing on his threshold with the envelope and a slightly petrified expression.

Back when it had existed, the Department of Metahuman Affairs had handled the matters of legal representation, to make sure all metahumans down to the superheroes themselves were aware of what the laws were. Its sister-organization, the Department of Extranormal Operations, had done the enforcing part. They had monitored metahumans and aliens, brought down the rogue elements, and covered up as necessary.

Both departments had folded in 1989 in a massive agency-wide dissolution. Following the borderline catastrophic events of the White Scare, the Agency had disbanded the D.E.O., E.A.G.L.E., and T.H.U.N.D.E.R. before Valentina Vastok had announced that the Agency itself was shutting down as per presidential orders. The D.M.H.A. had remained in operation until 1994 to handle the load of court cases still left from the Scare before it too had dissolved.

Only a fraction of E.A.G.L.E. remained active and that was in the form of the Belle Reve Penitentiary where many criminal metahumans from back in the day were still serving their lengthy sentences.

The SCU was but a tiny fragment of the D.E.O., absorbed into the Metropolis police department two decades earlier.

"Do you think that threat is actually worth something?" Colletta wondered, as they made their way back down to the lobby. "I don't think ol' Handy Randy back there has any idea what the DMHA _is_. Hell, I barely know what it is and I'm working for whatever's left of it."

"He seemed convinced. I assumed that I sounded threatening enough." Jones said. "I believe we were able to convey the appropriate direness of the warning. He just may keep his hands, eyes, and any other body parts to himself."

"He'd better, 'cause I got half a mind to come back off the clock and rip him a new one." Colletta grumbled. She shook her head. "Straight men are gross _-_ \- No offense, John. It's just that everyone accuses us bisexuals of being oversexed and 'greedy' and those same people don't blink when some straight asshole brags about threesomes and foursomes and sex with increasingly higher numbers."

"No offense taken." Jones assured her.

They left the building, stepping back into the cool air of early spring. It was nearly noon and the day had warmed up into something approaching a pleasant mid-forties. The sky was still blue and the sun was still out.

"You know, I watched the _Addams Family_ when it was doing re-runs. I was like, six." Colletta started.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, Thing scared the holy fucking shit out of me for a while. Mom always made us hang on to old shoe boxes and I remember being super-freaked that Thing was going to pop out of one of them and grab me and drag me into the hellscape from whence he came."

"You must have had a very vivid imagination as a child." Jones commented, smiling. He sensed her low-grade horror for this case from the moment they had been assigned to it. "Are you all right?"

"What? Oh, yeah, I'm totally fine." Colletta waved a hand, smiling all the same. "The whole thing with Randy Banks was super squiggy. I mean, people aren't _supposed_ to be able to go full Thing Addams with their hands. Eyes are supposed to _stay_ in the sockets and so are arms. If it's not like that, something went _very wrong_ somewhere. Glass eyes, man. One of my uncles has a glass eye and I didn't know until I was twenty when I realized the damn thing didn't actually move."

If she had any intention of going on at length, she was derailed when both of their phones chirped and twittered nearly in tandem with newly-arrived text messages.

"It's Lieutenant Sawyer." Jones said.

"Yeah, me too. Do you have eleven ninety-nine and an address?" Colletta asked. "Wait, we use eleven codes?"

"The SCU does." the detective replied, entering the address into the map app. "I believe we are technically supposed to use the fifty-two codes designed specifically for the DEO, but we do not have access to them."

"Great. I never memorized the eleven codes. Only California uses them anymore. What's an eleven ninety-nine? Why does Maggie never elaborate?" Colletta wondered, swiping a hand through her hair.

"Expediency. Eleven ninety-nine is 'Officer needs help urgently'. The address is in the Metrodale industrial belt, on the north side." Jones said, putting his phone away. He resumed his walk back to the car, and Colletta had to jump to catch up.

"That's where Marzan and Pittarese were patrolling today. They're on the route all week." she said, digging her keys out of her pocket. "They're in trouble, aren't they. Damn, that area's been clear for months. Why did it pick _this_ week to start acting up?"

"I think we had better make all haste." Jones suggested.

Something had happened. He wasn't sure what _-_ \- not over the four or five mile distance and not with nine million souls in the city giving off the mental equivalent of white noise. But _something_ had happened. There was a pressing sense of tension and something like _emptiness_ , but he could sense no more than that.

He knew Pittarese and Marzan very well. The longer he spent around a certain group of people, the more attuned to them he became. Even in a city of nine million people, he could have picked his fellow SCU members out of a crowd. He was like a radar scope. Without actively concentrating, he could sense the gist of their moods and a passing whisper of their thoughts. He could sense Colletta's anxiety and knew her mind was running over worst-case scenarios.

John Jones knew Pittarese and Marzan better than they thought he did. They were good people, true to their badges, who both sought to live a life that included being kind and compassionate to their fellow man. There were no real dark marks in their respective histories. They were good in that generic, but comfortable and predictable way. They participated in the Met P.D.-sponsored food drives and the holiday dinners for the homeless and other sorts of charity fundraiser events. Not just because that was what was expected of two police officers, but because that was what was expected of decent people.

They were good people because they just couldn't pretend they were anything else.

And something had gone wrong.

* * *

Maggie paced.

Nine steps to the left, past the EMT vehicle that wasn't quite an ambulance. Then nine steps back to the right, which slanted at an angle to avoid the large but shallow pot-hole filled with water, past the four additional squad cars that had arrived. Then two steps to the side and she was back on pattern.

Nothing got a cop moving faster than the news that another cop desperately needed assistance. Half the time, they may have been a testosterone-fueled boys club who thought Special Crimes was a standing joke, but if there was one thing you could count on, it was that the departments would stick together during an internal crisis.

The police looked after their own, no matter their personal opinions.

Half of Major Crimes had responded to SCU's alarm. Missing Persons, Homicide, and Assault/Battery had turned up even before Maggie had arrived, casing and securing the crime scene, and seeing to the safety of the only witness. Two medical first responders had arrived just as Maggie had. Forensics had assured her that someone would be along within the hour, but in her experience, they always took a little longer to scramble. There was no crowd to gather, not on this side of town, but the yellow tape had been strung up anyways and two patrol officers kept watch up and down both sides of the street.

Maggie hadn't spoken to the witness yet (not in an official capacity. For the first ten minutes, she technically hadn't been permitted; Met-P.D. had procedures regarding under-age witnesses and that meant waiting for at least one parent), so she had very little idea what had happened. What she did know was that two of her own had gone missing. The patrol officers had made a quick sweep of the area and reported to her that they had found literally no trace of Marzan or Pittarese. No obvious signs of a struggle. No blood or clothes or personal belongings or really any trace of them _anywhere_.

It was like they had vanished into thin air.

That was very concerning.

The grumble of an approaching engine caused Maggie to break pattern and she looked up to see the familiar profile of Colletta's (newer) Honda Civic coming around the corner. Her old car had taken a header off the Gerald D. Ordway Memorial Bridge last year. Considering that it had been totaled during a street-chase shoot-out and the magistrate court had argued in Colletta's favor as a police officer, recompense from insurance had bought half the new car for her.

Maggie whistled and beckoned to Detective Turpin, who had initially answered the eleven ninety-nine from dispatch. He hurried over to the lieutenant's side as Colletta applied the brakes and pulled up by the curb. A moment later, she and Detective Jones strode over.

"What has happened?" Jones asked.

"I'm still not sure enough to give you a solid answer." Maggie admitted. "What I do know is that Greg and Lee are missing. Literally, vanished. As far as anyone can tell, they might as well have been beamed into outer space for all the clues we can find."

"We can go over the crime scene later." Turpin said, jerking a thumb at the warehouse behind them. "We were waiting on you two to get here before we spoke to the witness."

Maggie looked at Jones. "Gonna need my lie detector for this one."

"I'm more useful than that." the detective stated, though he was hardly offended. He was telepathic and there was no reason not to put that to good use.

Besides, something was _wrong_.

Closer now, he could sense a greater disturbance. It was still somewhat undefined. Not enough time had yet passed for the ripples to settle out. He couldn't quite make out the shape or feel of it. But there was a sense of pain, physical and emotional. Traces of fear, terror, panic. A sense of displacement, wrong, disordered. A dissonant note in an otherwise flawless harmony. Something had bent out of shape.

Whatever had happened, it shouldn't have.

"C'mon." Turpin jerked his head. "We're not going to figure things out just standing around."

They walked to the EMT vehicle where on the back hatch sat Violet and an older black woman with gray hairs starting to pepper in around her ears and temples. Violet had been patched up and cleaned of blood, a fuzzy orange shock blanket around her shoulders.

"Hello again." Maggie said politely to them, then turned to her officers. "These are the Parrs, Helen and her daughter Violet. Violet is our only witness. Ladies Parr, these are Detectives Turpin and Jones, and Officer Kanigher." The lieutenant gestured to each of them as she said their name. "Detective Turpin will ask you a few questions, Violet. Is it all right if the rest of us stay?"

Violet nodded. "Yeah."

Turpin stepped forward and cleared his throat while he fished a notepad and pen out of his coat pocket. He clicked the pen a few times like he was making sure the mechanism still worked.

"Okay, full name and age for the record?"

"Um, Violet Courtney Parr. I'm fourteen."

"Home address?"

Violet glanced at her mother. She didn't know it off-hand.

"78439 West Elm Street, Brownstun." Mrs. Parr replied for her daughter.

"That's right about the middle of Metrodale." Turpin commented, his pen scribbling. "Now I don't care what brought you up all this way on a school day, Miss Parr. I want to know what happened to two of my detectives. Can you please recount the circumstances that led to you crossing paths with Detectives Marzan and Pittarese."

"Um..." Violet shrugged, looked at her mother again, and then took a moment to gather her thoughts. "I got attacked by this _thing_. I ain't really sure what it was. It looked like a giant centipede to me with these nasty-ass pincers. I wasn't stickin' around for that! So I ran and then that lady detective nearly hit me with the car. They wanted to know what was going on, so I told 'em and they went to check it out. They said they'd only be five minutes, but if they didn't come back in ten, I should get on the radio and call for the help."

She said this all very quickly like she was under a time-limit and was out of breath by the end of it.

"Am I in trouble?" she asked.

Turpin blinked. "For what?"

"For usin' the radio."

"No, not at all. I'm happy you did." Maggie assured her. "We'll stand a better chance at finding them since we were able to respond so quickly."

Violet appeared to deflate with relief.

"I'd like to clarify a few things." Turpin went on. "You were _in_ that warehouse when you were attacked?"

"Yeah."

"Did you get a very good look at your attacker? Enough for a sketch artist?"

Violet shook her head. "Nah, nah, it weren't some human person. It was a little dark in there, but I saw somethin' that looked like this huge centipede, like seven or eight feet long. Dunno what it was, but it sure as hell weren't human!"

Maggie swapped a curious look with Turpin and then glanced over his shoulder to Jones. The black man didn't look at her. His dark brown gaze was focused on Violet and his expression was slightly perturbed, one eyebrow canted a little higher than the other. He looked alarmed, even through the hand that covered half his face.

 _Is that his 'I am alarmed by the lie' or is that his 'I'm alarmed by the truth' expression?_ Maggie wondered. It could easily go either way, that look. It was either one hundred percent true and that was wigging him out, or it was such a magnificent lie and he was impressed.

"All right..." Turpin slowly put his pen back to paper, apparently deciding that he was going to roll with this one. They hadn't heard everything yet. Nowadays, giant centipedes couldn't possibly be the weirdest. "So you get attacked by something distinctly non-human in appearance. You leave the warehouse and run in front of the squad car. Our detectives get out _-_ -"

"Er, actually _-_ \- I kinda bolted from them too." Violet admitted, looking sheepishly at her knees. "Cuz, y'know..." She held up her hands as if to show something, but the only thing was her dark skin tone. "And I thought _-_ \- I also thought it was, y'know, _them_."

She put a strange emphasis on the word _-_ \- actually the same kind of emphasis that conspiracy theorists put on "them" when it referred to shadowy nebulous organizations of dubious alignments, usually government-sponsored and involved in alien cover-ups or lizard men.

Over the last three years, Maggie had talked to quite a lot of conspiracy nuts who talked about shady "thems" in vague terms, so she was familiar with the sort of emphasis.

"Them?" she repeated, hoping to get some clarification.

"Them! The prowlers!" Mrs. Parr spoke up for the first time since giving the address. "They been goin' 'round the neighborhood snatchin' folk!"

The four cops swapped much more serious looks than before. Outside of the SCU, Maggie's ear was not very close to the ground, but it was still odd that she hadn't heard about this before. Neighborhood prowlers generally caught a lot of attention, even in the worst areas of Metrodale.

She glanced over at Jones. His eyebrows had gone higher than she had ever seen, looking like they were planning to take permanent residence on the other side of his hairline. She had learned long ago that the height of his eyebrows indicated his disbelief, but she still couldn't tell if this was because the Parrs were lying out of their asses or telling a really whacky truth.

Turpin turned a page over in the notepad. "Go on. What about these prowlers?" he prompted.

Mrs. Parr looked between the officers. "You ain't hear about the prowlers? The kidnappings?" she asked, bewildered.

"Ma'am, the SCU deals in weird-ass shit like giant centipedes." Colletta answered. "Kidnapping is Major Crime's beat and unless there's some really _weird_ element to it, we generally don't hear about it."

"Tell us anyways." Turpin prompted again. "This is the first I've heard about it. I don't like it."

"Well... They been stealin' kids off the street. They been at it since last year. Least, that's the first time I saw it." Mrs. Parr said. She started hesitantly, but the more words she spoke, the more she seemed to gain confidence. "Sometimes it's grown-ups, the drunks and the druggies, y'know the people ain't no one really gonna miss. But mostly kids. Black, latino, really anyone 'illegal' livin' in Metrodale."

"The people the police won't spend too much energy looking for." Maggie commented. After all, racial profiling was still alive and well in Metropolis.

"Yeah. Some kids just go vanish overnight and ain't no one sees 'em again." Mrs. Parr went on. "Not many white kids, though. Too many white folk go missin' and people start to notice. But I seen 'em walk off with a few."

"You've actually seen them?" Turpin asked.

Mrs. Parr nodded. "Just from a ways away. Didn't wanna get too close." she said. "There's a couple of 'em, but it's mostly this white lady. She kinda of this tall-" She stretched up her hand until it was about five and a half feet off the ground. "And she's got this red hair down her back and _huge_ boobs. She's always wearing this black jumpsuit with the zipper pulled down. She gives me the shivers."

The woman shuddered a little at the memory and even Violet seemed to hunker down in fear.

"It's damn creepy the way the kids go with her." Mrs. Parr said, looking left and right. "It's like she just talks to 'em and a moment later, they're followin' her down the road like lost little ducklings lookin' for mama."

"And you never considered calling the police?" Turpin inquired.

Mrs. Parr snorted. "Call the po- _lice_? Detective, I mean no offense, but what makes you think anyone gonna come all the way to Metrodale for it?"

Turpin shrugged as if to say _'fair point'_.

"Do you think it's connected to what happened here?" Maggie asked.

"No way, this is new." Mrs. Parr assured them. "Only the third time in the last week I heard someone go missin' around here. Ben a couple streets over took his dog out. Last we ever saw of him _-_ \- that was last Monday. And this realtor on Thursday. We was checkin' around for Ben in case he was hurt an' we found the car."

"Where's the car?" Turpin asked.

"I dunno, Rick said he'd handle it."

Which probably meant the car had been sold to a scrap dealer and half taken apart by now. Even if they found the car, any evidence would be too contaminated to make use of.

"All right, thank you for your time." Maggie said, with the feeling they weren't going to get anything more out of these two. "We might have some more questions, so please leave your contact info with Detective Turpin, and you can be on your way after."

She made a _'follow'_ gesture to Jones and Colletta, leading them some distance away from the Parrs. Jones still looked distinctly perturbed and Colletta thoughtful.

"Well?" the lieutenant prompted.

"It was a truth." Jones replied.

"Meaning what?" Colletta prodded.

"A truth. From their perspective, that is the truth." Jones explained. "What both Mrs. Parr and her daughter saw is not something they feel can simply be lied about, but they know the truth is far stranger than any lie. Neither of them would have said anything if we hadn't been the SCU."

"So if we had been Major Crimes, Violet would have talked about a man with a knife instead of a giant centipede." Maggie concluded. "And while Mrs. Parr still would have mentioned the prowlers, she would have fudged it so it wouldn't sound so strange."

Jones nodded. "I would like to see the scene now." he said. "There is something here and I cannot make sense of it."

Maggie nodded and led the way to the warehouse. There wasn't much to see, but Detective Jones was telepathic _-_ \- noticeably sensitive to mood shifts and surface thoughts and strong emotions. He was like a radio antenna, Maggie thought sometimes. He could pick up bits and pieces casually, but nothing in full unless he tuned in. She didn't have much doubt that he would discover something they couldn't get by conventional means.

Turpin caught up with them just outside the door and they walked into the warehouse. The officers who arrived ahead of them had secured the scene as much as they could for not really knowing where the scene was. They cordoned off an area of about ten feet around where Violet's bag was still laying. Jones strode right towards the yellow tape, hands splayed out in front of him like he was feeling for air currents.

"What exactly is he doing?" Maggie wondered, gesturing for the other two to hang back.

"Oh, he told me about this. He said strong emotions can leave impressions, like a psychic footprint." Colletta explained. "That's how he was always able to get such an accurate read on what happened at the crime scenes."

"It's the point of no return; I didn't think that was weird." Turpin commented, frowning at himself. "The commanders don't actually _know_ we have a telepath in the SCU, do they?"

Maggie shook her head. "So far, there hasn't been a reason to bring it up. If Jones wants to tell them, he can speak for himself." she said. "All right, while Jones does his thing, I want to hear your normal human opinions."

Colletta shrugged expressively and snorted while Turpin just shook his head.

"Sorry Lieutenant, I don't even know where to start with this one." he said.

"Aw, you two are killing me." Maggie groaned, slumping. "This isn't the strangest thing I've seen today. That Code Veitch I got this morning put a pile of human skin in my lap."

"Ew." Colletta made a face.

"No. Shed skin, like a snake." the lieutenant corrected, which was evidently worse judging from the way Colletta's expression changed. "I'll give the full details at the afternoon briefing, but the long story short is that entomologist Roderick Rose has gone missing and all that's left in his lab is a pile of shed human skin."

Turpin made a face of realization. "And now we have a giant centipede roaming abandoned steel works."

"I'm not saying they're not connected, but now that you mention it..." Maggie gave that thought a few seconds. Missing entomologists and potentially shady science experiments with giant centipedes didn't exactly read like a coincidence. She wiped a hand down her face. "And now there's these missing people..."

"Two Code Veitches and a neighborhood prowler. First thing is to disprove any connection to the prowler so we can kick that down to Missing Persons." Turpin advised. Since it had been dropped in their laps, it was momentarily their jurisdiction until they signed off on it. That meant gathering just enough evidence to prove it wasn't their problem.

"Sounds like something going on at street-level. We'll have to put feelers out." Maggie said. So low at street level it didn't seem that anyone else had heard it. "I'll talk to Lori. She's on the crime-beat, so her ear's to the ground."

"I can put a word in with Lois." Colletta offered. "The Suicide Kings mostly broke up after Gigante's arrest, but I think she's still got a few friendlies in there. I don't know how much she'll get, but she hears some pretty weird stuff. Honestly though, you should talk to Jim."

"Gordon?"

"Yeah, I know why he's so good." Colletta said proudly, grinning. "Intuitive leaps aside, he's definitely got a snitch in every borough. I think he pays them in sandwiches."

Turpin rolled his eyes, weary and annoyed at the same time. "Oh great, he's one of those cowboy cops."

"Buck up, Dan." Maggie nudged him pointedly, as if to remind him where he had once been. "Cowboy cops get work done, snitches are good for business, and food buys loyalty better than anything."

"Cowboy cops jump the gun, that's what they do." Turpin grumbled. Cowboy cops were impatient and impulsive and they usually had to take a bullet to some joint or another before they learned why they _shouldn't_ go leaping about wildly.

"I wanted him because he gets results." Maggie said, arms crossed. She was determined to defend her position on James Gordon until the cows came home. He was a good cop; he just needed a little more molding.

Turpin might have argued the point _-_ \- he had strong opinions about cowboy cops _-_ \- but with an abrupt swish of fabric, Jones came marching back. His face was even more of a mask than it usually was, his shoulders were stiff, and his elbows were clamped to his sides like he was holding his ribs in.

"It's..." He hesitated, eyes moving like he was visually searching for something to say. Then he shrugged and said: "Bad."

They waited for him to continue.

"There is panic, anxiety. Not fear, not outright. This thing didn't play with them. I believe it took them quickly. Marzan was there." Jones pointed to a left-hand row, and then to the one to the immediate right of it. "And Pittarese was there. He fired two shots at their attacker. It's hard to see from where I was standing, but I believe there are two bullets lodged in that furnace."

"So he missed." Turpin said grimly. "Is he the only one who saw the bastard?"

Jones nodded, however tentatively. "The shock is his emotion. A short burst of surprise and panic from Marzan and then nothing. The anxiety stewed longer with Pittarese, then shock and a touch of fear. She was taken first, then him." he explained.

"And their attacker? Did you get anything on him?" Maggie asked.

The detective shrugged. "Young Miss Parr saw something that was most certainly not human and she was correct. The mind is... corrupted. Animalistic. The coherency of the thoughts still ring as human to a basic extent, but they are no more complex than that of a seven-year old child."

"If it's not a human we're dealing with, then what is it?" Colletta asked, sharing an uneasy look with her two superior officers.

For a long moment, Jones stared straight ahead with a sort of thousand yard stare that didn't include any of them, looking as though he might regret telling them. He stayed like this just long enough for the other three to swap another round of uneasy looks. It wasn't like Jones to hesitate or with-hold information. His honesty and forthrightness were two of things that Maggie valued.

Finally, Jones said: "Hungry. It is hungry."

* * *

-0-


	5. Running in Circles

Correction: The Flash story might turn out just as long or a little longer than I predicted. I've got a mini-arc to write and that might be three to five chapters long depending on everything. I'm not in the home stretch yet, but I'm starting to see where it could end and I'm making a confident prediction that it will be over 45 chapters.

* * *

Chapter Five: Running In Circles

There was a window in Maggie's small basement office, set high into the wall. It wasn't a very nice window. Its half-circle shape meant that she couldn't open it; it hadn't been designed that way. It had thin metal bars across it to prevent anyone from accidentally or purposefully kicking the glass, but that had the unfortunate side-effect of making her feel trapped. It faced directly north so no sunlight came through it at any hour of the day. And it was high enough off the floor that she couldn't even stand on her tiptoes to peer out of it.

If someone walked in on her now, it wouldn't be the first time she had been caught standing on her chair to look out the window.

The view outside wasn't ideal for pensive window-gazing. There was a strip of grass and then it was the parking spaces for the motorcycle patrol squad. Quite often, the view was of a row of rear tires and tail pipes.

But it was the only window she had, so it would have to do.

It helped a little that it was snowing.

It wouldn't stick, the snow. It was starting to get too late in the season - too close to spring, for there to be any substantial accumulation. But the gentle twirl and twist of the falling flakes was calming to watch. After the last forty-eight hours, she needed something to take her mind off the developing situation.

Greg Pittarese and Lee Marzan were still missing.

Forensics had gone over the scene of their disappearance with a fine-toothed comb. They had found strands of hair from both detectives and a few stiff fibers that were still unidentified. They had dug the two bullets out of the furnace. They had searched for footprints and scratch marks and any amount of trace evidence that would point to the perpetrator. They had checked around outside for get-away tire tracks.

And they had found nothing.

 _Nothing_.

Even Violet Parr, their witness, had managed not to spill a drop of blood on her way out.

The only thing Forensics could confirm beyond reasonable doubt was that Marzan and Pittarese had in fact been standing in that warehouse at all.

The old steelworks had been canvassed up and down, left and right, and across every conceivable diagonal by everyone that Missing Persons could spare. They had found a battered tennis shoe that seemed to be all that was left of Ben the dog-walker. And a broken cell phone property of Ms. Regina Schyler, a real estate agent missing since last Thursday. Both items had been found nearly a mile and a half apart with the warehouse right in the middle.

Logically, that would have narrowed down the search radius. But word was getting around that they weren't dealing with something human and normal and predictable.

They didn't know what they were dealing with.

Officially, the seventy-two hour deadline would pass on Thursday at noon. Then the tone of the investigation would shift and not for the better. By the evening, they would be searching for bodies. Without water, the longest a human being could expect to survive was three days. After that long, the odds of finding the missing person alive dwindled dramatically.

Maggie had already flopped her way through two phone calls to the Marzan and Pittarese families informing them that their children had gone missing in the line of duty. Trying to break that news was hard enough without letting on that they had no idea what had really happened _-_ \- No, Maggie had her suspicions, but she just couldn't say _"I think your son/daughter was kidnapped by a giant centipede."_ So she had been forced to tell them something that was half a lie, spinning a yarn about the vestiges of the Gigante family trying to get their pound of flesh.

Wisconsin and Minnesota weren't exactly _up_ on the weird stuff like Metropolis was.

She was dreading the possibility that she would have to make another set of calls to tell the families that their children were dead.

She wanted to say that the SCU had gone full-bore pedal to the floor searching for their missing comrades, but the truth was, they couldn't. They didn't have the numbers to justify putting "a few" people on this. A few people was quarter of Maggie's entire staff. One forensic analyst (for now) and two forever on administrative paperwork duty. Roderick Rose. The missing people. The metahumans who just kept popping out of the woodwork one right after the other...

Her forehead thumped on the window. She groaned wearily.

It was pi day and there was no pie. Pittarese had always brought in pies. No morning donuts either, that had been alarming. No jolly green giant smile. No absurd hoots of laughter. No good-natured bickering about what part of the Midwest was better or if it was more amusing to pronounce Wisconsin as "Wizzconsin".

Marzan and Pittarese hadn't been the heart of the SCU (maybe the left ventricle), but the last two days had been missing an important spark. Heads were lower, eyes more downcast. There was a shrine of flowers growing on the missing detectives' desks. They weren't memorial shrines, not yet. Just prayers and wishes for a safe return.

A throat was cleared and someone knocked lightly on the office door. The chair twisted under Maggie as she looked to see who was interrupting her pensive window-staring. Mitch Coleman hovered under the frame, still as pale and straggly-haired as he'd been when she'd first met him. He was holding several file folders under an arm.

"Um... Lieutenant." he started. His eyes skittered to the left and then to the right, looking into each far corner like he expected to find a cue card, and then back at her. "I saw nothing?"

"It's normal, Mr. Coleman." Maggie told him, and hopped off the chair. "We're all getting a little antsy and not because two of our detectives are missing. We've just been in these rooms too long."

"Yeah..." Mitch lowered his head a little. "I heard about Detective Pittarese and Detective Marzan. They've really found nothing?"

"Nothing that could possibly help." Maggie shook her head, and then took her seat again. "Come inside. I assume there's something I can help you with?"

Mitch shrugged. "It might be the other way around." he said, coming up to the desk. He shuffled the file folders until the one he needed came free and presented it to her. "Lieutenant Casey wanted me to give this to you, since I was coming this way anyways. She didn't say what it was, but I'm pretty sure it's my transfer papers."

Maggie peeked under the folder just long enough to see the gist of the paperwork and nodded, grinning. "Welcome to the team."

Mitch punched the air a little, a triumphant smirk blooming.

"I'll file it tonight. It'll take a full business day for it to go through, but it'll be sealed on Friday." Maggie went on. "Six weeks probation and I can't actually let you out into the field until you've read the rulebook cover to cover. You'll be quizzed on it, understand?"

"Yes ma'am, I understand." Mitch said, drawing himself up proudly.

"And we'll do a welcoming party at some point, just not right now." Maggie added. She set the folder aside. "What else have you got?"

"Oh. Well, I got the preliminary test results back. On the skin." Mitch rummaged through the folders again and put the right on her desk. "That's the fingerprint results and everything we got off the skin.

"The fingerprints belong to Roderick Rose _-_ \- Or at least, he's the closest match. There's two other people, but I took the initiative and checked on them. They're alive and well, and they haven't gone anywhere near the university in the past two years."

Maggie made a face, horrified and fascinated all at once. "Roderick Rose _shed his skin_?"

That prompted so many of the same questions. What kind of mind did it take to do something as crazy and dangerous as experiment on yourself and god only knew what the results would be?

"Seems that way." the forensic tech said, grinning excitedly, that same shark-like grin. "There's some chemical stains on the hands, discoloration around the knuckles, and some blood right around where the fingernails were. But that's not the weird part."

"You mean it gets worse?"

"Well... This is sort of embarrassing..." Mitch rubbed the back of his neck and looked down. "That skin was on the floor at least a week before anyone found it."

If Maggie had been trying to drink her coffee, she would have done a spit take. As she wasn't, her forehead hit her palm with a loud smack and she groaned out: "A _week_? It'd been there a week?"

"Uh... Yeah. I'm really embarrased it took me until the end of yesterday to recognize the signs of early decay."

"Oh, shit..." The lieutenant pressed both of her hands over her face. "Oh shit... Ugh, don't tell me it really is connected..."

Mitch tilted his head quizzically. "Um, is there something I should know?"

"Marzan and Pittarese aren't the only two people who have gone missing around the steelworks." Maggie said, looking up from her hands. "Last Monday, it was a man from Metrodale. On Thursday, a realtor. Mr. Rose put in for his leave of absence the Friday before. According to our only witness, the attacker is none other than an eight-foot long centipede."

"Really?" Mitch's eyes got very wide and excited, and redness flushed up his cheeks. "That's _wicked_! _-_ \- I mean, objectively speaking, of course! It's not cool that a giant centipede is eating people, but just a giant centipede in general is inherently awesome _-_ -!"

He clacked his jaw shut forcefully to stop the words from spilling out. He didn't want to be rude or flippant about the obvious plight plaguing the SCU, but seriously. How wicked was the idea of a giant centipede?

"Your enthusiasm is refreshing, Mr. Coleman." the lieutenant said dryly, still managing to sound sincere. "I might be more inclined to share it, if it wasn't for the fact that Mr. Rose might _be_ that giant centipede."

Most of the delight and excitement and enthusiasm drained from the young man's face. "Oh... Yes. I can see how that might put a dampener on things..." He cleared his throat loudly. "Anyways! This is the bulk of Mr. Rose's research."

He dropped another folder onto the desk. It was thicker and heavier than the last and the impact rattled the pens. Maggie dragged it over the other one and flipped it open. The formatting was neat and easy to follow, divided into paragraphs and organized by dates, but Mr. Rose seemed to have a knack for obfuscating prose and long technical terms.

"He was working with lightly irradiated cockroaches. He was trying to understand what makes them so invulnerable to a nuclear blast." Mitch said, kindly summarizing it for the lieutenant. "On a similar note, he was also looking into the possibility of gene-splicing. He gets pretty technical the further it goes in, but from what I could understand, he wanted to see if people could become stronger or more durable _because_ of bugs."

"Hmm..." Maggie frowned thoughtfully. "You think he happened across a wining formula and tried it out on himself?"

The forensic tech shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. The whole concept of gene-splicing is completely over my head. Genetics just isn't a field I got into."

"He didn't happen to leave any notes lying around about this, did he?"

"He might have. There's an external hard-drive, but it's password protected, so I gave it to your digital tech."

Maggie nodded. If anyone could crack the password on _anything_ , it was Lyle. That boy had a gift for all things technological.

"Mr. Rose wrote out a proposal for the whole human-bug improvement thing last December _-_ \- It's towards the back. It's not the polished version. But he submitted it to his corporate sponsors."

The lieutenant flipped to the back of the research notes where she found a hand-written paper that had been crossed out multiple times over _-_ \- the places where Mr. Rose had struggled for a better thing to say. There were phrases like "bio-mechanical advantages" and "improved vestigial control" that had been scratched out and replaced with something significantly more complicated and important-sounding. Maggie's background in science had ended with the required college course. Then she had moved on to her major and hadn't looked back.

But she knew important-sounding phrases when she saw them.

"Do you have a list of Mr. Rose's corporate sponsors?" Maggie asked.

"He's only got two. He wrote the addresses on the top of the second page." Mitch replied.

"Ah." Maggie looked at the second page and she almost laughed out loud. "Surprise, surprise, LexCorp and Future World Industries are interested in irradiated roach gene splicing." She rubbed her forehead. "Oh, Lois Lane would have a field day if this got out."

Mitch blinked. "Who's Lois Lane?"

The lieutenant did actually laugh this time. She hadn't meant to, but the frank tone and the vaguely bewildered expression typically did not accompany the name "Lois Lane." No, no, that name brought around either scowls or agreeable nods, depending on whether you thought she was a howling liberal lunatic or the voice of the everyman's truth.

"Oh you innocent child. You haven't lived in Metropolis very long." Maggie commented. And had had his head buried in his work, no doubt. His voice had a twang that was more Chicagoan than Yooper. "Lois Lane. _Daily Planet_ reporter and the scariest woman alive. Don't look her in the eyes if you're keeping anything a secret."

"Why, is she a metahuman with the ability to make you tell the truth?" Mitch wondered.

"No, just a regular human who brings giants to their knees." the lieutenant said. She fixed the young man with a serious glare. "But I do mean that in a literal sense, Mr. Coleman. Ms. Lane has a very well-developed radar for lies. She has a way of asking questions that ferrets the truth out of you before you realize what you've said. If I've asked you to keep something on the down low and she corners you with her pen, invoke the name of whatever god you believe in and run."

"You're making her sound like something demonic." Mitch said, frowning.

 _Innocent child... So precious_. Maggie thought, in a tone that would have been fond if her head hadn't made it sound so mocking. "I mean it, Mr. Coleman. I'm about to move it to the top of the rule list. Don't talk to Lois Lane without express permission from myself **and** Detective Turpin. Understood?"

"Y-Yes ma'am!" Mitch's posture snapped to a distant facsimile of attention and he slapped a salute to his forehead.

"Good man." Maggie praised. "Anything else, Mr Coleman?"

"Er, no, I think that's it." Mitch looked down at his empty hands like he expected to find more folders there.

"And you're sure about Mr. Rose's research?"

"Well, it was the last thing he was definitively working on. There might be something more on that external..."

Maggie nodded, getting to her feet. "But until we crack it, we're at a dead end. Thank you for bringing all of this to me. We'll let you know if anything pops up that requires your expertise." she said.

"Of course!" Mitch made gestures over his shoulder. "I'll just be getting back to my lab now, thank you for your time..."

He practically stumbled over his feet on his way back out the door. Maggie collected her phone, her wallet, and her coat before she left as well. It seemed now that she had a few house-calls to make.

The bullpen outside was nearly empty. With the usual exceptions, everyone was out and about. Metahumans hadn't stopped making appearances just because two of the SCU's detectives were missing. Sergeant Lupe Teresa Leocadio-Escudero had her head buried in a stack of paperwork, as she usually did. Captain Jase was filing the recent reports. And Lyle Beedler lurked as he always did behind his bank of computer monitors.

"Hey, Lyle." Maggie strode over and clapped a hand on his shoulder. He jumped.

"Lieutenant! Jeez!"

"Sorry, I just wanted to get a guesstimate on cracking the password."

Lyle looked down at his workstation where the external hard-drive was wired in. Green code text scrolled across one of the monitors while he worked from a command box in another.

"I'm gonna need at least until the end of the day on this. Maybe until the weekend, I'm not sure. It's not just the password; there's a heavy level of encryption on it too." he said. "If I don't laser-scalpel my way through this at just the right angle, there's a fail-safe that'll corrupt the files."

Maggie whistled. "Then there must be something on there worth keeping a secret." she said. She patted his shoulder again. "Just remember to take breaks. Don't want to end up with another UTI."

"Don't worry, I'll get this one." Lyle assured just as much as he assured himself. "My kung-fu is strong."

She left him to it and made her way out of the basement office, swinging her coat over her shoulders. It was going to be good to stretch her legs and hit the streets, to actually feel productive instead of just stewing away in the cave. It would do her some good to get her mind off the would-be fate of her two missing detectives and onto something she could solve.

Regardless of who she had to talk to.

Both Ms. Merlo and Luthor would be pains to talk to in one butt-cheek after the other. Neither were likely to directly answer her questions. Ms. Merlo would divert her onto different subjects and Luthor would palm her off with useless assurances, and she would leave with emptier hands than when she had arrived.

A hard-drive with a heavy encryption and a fail-safe meant highly sensitive information that someone didn't want to risk falling into the wrong hands. LexCorp had its fingers on more military contracts than any company in the nation and Future World was slowly cornering the market of Big Pharma. Both had something to protect.

Maggie decided to hit Future World Industries first and get that over with. Luthor, at least, would do her courtesy of being professional, whereas Ms. Merlo would probably try and flirt with her.

But the universe was looking out for her. With a big, vacant smile, the front-desk receptionist of Future World blithely told Maggie that Ms. Merlo was unavailable would she like to leave a message? The lieutenant declined and made her way across the business district to LexCorp.

LexCorp was "hip". With it. Modern in the way the new generation of young adults liked it. Not the pressed suit and tie dress code stringency, but a more relaxed business casual way with a smattering of skinny jeans and the occasional T-shirt. There was this sort of loose-limbed jitterbug swing dance kind of vibe to the front lobby that Maggie associated with a renovated west coast college. It was the only way she could think to describe it. That LexCorp was a place that didn't give _that_ much of a damn.

Lex Luthor was a great deal more "new money", the family fortune being less than four generations old. When he had taken control of the company, he had talked a lot about keeping up with the vigorous young go-getters graduating college and looking for jobs. That seemed to have included restructuring and re-tailoring his company to suit the needs of the younger generation. In the two or three minutes it took for Maggie to walk from the front doors to the reception desk, she saw more flannel over-shirts and hipster-thick glasses than she had ever seen in an office setting.

Manning the reception desk with a perked smile and a silenced Mauser was one of Luthor's bodyguards, Hope. The beauty about Hope was that she wasn't supposed to look like a bodyguard. She was blonde and stunning with the curves of a mountain road and ruby-red lipstick. She wore blouses and skirts tailored to flatter the lines of her body and hide the muscle mass. She smiled and chirped politely at everyone, the very face of customer service in a one hundred and sixty dollar make-up pallet.

There was garrote wire tucked into her ever-present hairpiece, a knife riding high on her thigh, and a high-powered rifle snuggled up to the underside of her desk. She could also drop-kick a man ten paces and knew six different ways to disable someone in a way that didn't permanently cripple them.

If someone made it past Hope and got past the glut of security between the ground floor and the executive levels, then they had to deal with Mercy.

Mercy was a bodyguard of the personal assistant variety and likely twice as formidable as her front desk counterpart. Maggie had never actually seen Mercy in action, which said a great deal about Hope's competence.

Maggie didn't change her walk to anything less purposeful and it seemed that the very set of her shoulders was what drew Hope to glance up from the computer with a cautious expression. It was fleeting, melting quickly into an almost vapid smile.

"Hello, welcome to LexCorp. How may I help you today?" Hope inquired with a blank cheerful customer service voice.

"Lieutenant Margaret Sawyer, Met-P.D. Special Crimes Unit." Maggie placed her badge so the bodyguard-cum-receptionist could clearly see it. "Mr. Luthor's name has come up in an investigation regarding a man named Roderick Rose. I'd like to ask him a few questions, if that's possible at the present moment. This is a time sensitive issue, so any expediency on his part would be very much appreciated."

"LexCorp is always happy to assist the police." Hope said, the line coming out with such mechanical precision that it was like she had pre-recorded it and was mouthing along. "One moment, Lieutenant Sawyer."

Maggie nodded and turned away while Hope busied herself with the phone. She half-prayed that Luthor would refuse to see her, half-prayed that he had the time. If she struck out here too, then this investigation would be a very dead end. She wasn't sure that she could psyche herself up for Deirdre Merlo a second time.

After a moment of mindless-sounding chatter, Hope put the phone down and turned back to the lieutenant with a grin so vacant that if Maggie hadn't already seen the receptionist in full blood-thirsty action, she never would have believed that this woman was capable of taking on a dozen armed men at once.

"Mr. Luthor has a few minutes to spare, Lieutenant Sawyer." she said, delicately placing a keycard on the divide. "Please proceed directly down that hall. There will be an elevator at the opposite end. Please swipe this keycard to gain access. It will take you straight to the executive level."

"Thank you." Maggie flashed what she hoped was a pleasant smile rather than a strained grimace. She took the keycard and set off down the indicated hallway to where the private elevator was. She swiped the keycard through the reader. The little light blinked from red to green and the doors parted. There were only two buttons on the interior panel, labeled "Ground floor" and "Executive level".

Mr. Luthor's private elevator, if he ever did mundane plebian things like enter through the front lobby.

The elevator brought Maggie up a dizzying ninety levels, though the ride took five minutes and she had to listen to mind-numbing elevator music the whole way. LexCorp tower was nearly a mile tall. Ninety-six floors and one thousand, one hundred, and forty-five feet tall. A twenty-foot communications spire topped the crown of the building.

The elevator deposited Maggie on the ninety-third floor where Mercy was waiting. She was a little taller than Hope, her blonde hair cut to a more utilitarian length, and her face wasn't as given to smiling. Instead of a blouse and frilled skirt, she wore a fitted suit jacket and straight-cut slacks, which dropped to a pair of boots that were most likely steel-toed and concealing a knife each.

The expression on her face hardly changing, Mercy made a gesture for the lieutenant to follow her.

The LexCorp executive level was like an example of minimalist opulence. Everything was simply done, but at the same time, it was all incredibly over the top expensive. There were entire tracts of floor that had been replaced with real dirt out of which grew small decorative trees. Warm solar lamps kept them green all year round. There was also the gentle chirping of songbirds. It may have been a soundtrack, but knowing Luthor, there could have been real birds around here somewhere. The gushing water was real; they passed a fountain which poured the water out like a waterfall and down into streams that passed along the far sides of the trees. They even walked over a small arching bridge and Maggie definitely saw freaking _koi fish_ flitting about underneath the bubbles.

 _What a show-off. I like him even less now._ Maggie thought, carefully keeping her scowl internal.

It was no conference room that she was brought to, but something more completely ridiculous. A solarium. One with taller trees and climbing vines and a carpet of grass through which cut a series red-brick paths that all led to a spindly-looking gazebo.

There was a lake.

It probably wasn't very deep, three or four feet, five at the most. But still...

There was a lake.

It had fish in it and a little fountain at the center.

 _My god, you are so pretentious. And you wonder why people don_ ' _t like you._ Maggie thought, aiming all of her disbelief at the man standing on the shore with his hands clasped behind his back. His bald head reflected the late winter sunlight shining down through the overhead windows.

Mercy still didn't say a word _-_ \- she didn't even clear her throat. Only the tapping of her boots on the brick path gave any indication of her presence. Luthor turned his head just slightly to regard them. Mercy gestured to the lieutenant and then dismissed herself.

Luthor turned fully as Maggie stepped forward to a more polite distance for conversing. He was a handsome man, about thirty years old with a sophisticated grace and finely tailored suits that complimented strong cheekbones and an easy smile. His eyes were strange, colorless in a dark kind of way. Like long empty tunnels, the end of which were lost in shadow.

"Lieutenant Sawyer, welcome." he said smoothly, his voice deep and rich. "What brings you by today? I don't believe I've done anything to warrant a visit from the police."

"I need to ask you some questions about this man." Maggie said, drawing the photo out of her pocket so he could view it. "His name is Roderick Rose. He's an entomologist who works out of a lab near the university and does some tutoring work on the side. He's one of the out-sources that you sponsor."

"Hmm... Yes, I do know him." Luthor said, taking the photo for a closer inspection. "I haven't heard from him in the past two weeks. Is there a problem?"

"He's gone missing." Maggie replied.

"Really? For how long?"

"Reliably, since Monday, but evidence suggests that he disappeared some time last week."

She wasn't going to mention the pile of shed human skin unless she absolutely had to. If this were any other man, Maggie would have let him talk until he implicated himself. But for as much as Lex Luthor liked to hear the sound of his own voice, he knew exactly when to stop long before he said something that got him into trouble.

There was no getting the truth out of him, since the truth was whatever Luthor needed it to be.

Maggie would trust Ms. Lane's judgment on that one.

"I thought he was visiting family." Luthor commented.

"His family lives in Sault Ste. Marie, not Chicago." Maggie said. "And they've not heard from him. We've been thorough, Mr. Luthor. Mr. Rose has dropped off the grid. No one seems to have had any contact with him in the past week and a half. The furthest back we can pin it is last Tuesday."

"And I would be correct to presume the involvement of a metahuman, given the SCU's presence in this case." Luthor said, handing the photograph back to her. "Such a nuisance, these metahumans. I have no idea how you do it, Lieutenant."

"Neither do I." Maggie commented. "The nature of Mr. Rose's disappearance is certainly suspicious enough to _suspect_ metahuman involvement, but we have yet to confirm it beyond reasonable doubt."

"And you've come to see me because?..." Luthor prompted.

"Because we've been over his research. The last thing he was working on was a proposal for your company and Future World Industries." Maggie explained. "We're not trying to make too many assumptions this early in the investigation, but he did have you as a corporate sponsor and you do have quite a number of white collar enemies. I haven't been able to speak to Ms. Merlo regarding the matter. She was unavailable."

"Inconveniently so, I imagine." Luthor commented, letting out a light chuckle. "As I recall, Mr. Rose did work for my company when it still belonged to my father. I would have to pull his file to tell you exactly what he was employed for, but it was likely still along the lines of entomology. He quit several months after ownership changed hands and decided to pursue a more personal venture. His work record was good and I saw fit to offer sponsorship to him. Ms. Merlo has an unfortunate habit of poaching other people's employees. She doesn't know when to keep her hands off. Fortunately, Mr. Rose displays what you might call 'brand loyalty' and did not fully commit himself to her clutches."

"Can you tell me what the proposal was about?" Maggie inquired. "We found his rough drafts, but science hasn't been my specialty in years."

"I wouldn't know what he sent to Ms. Merlo, but knowing what she looks for, the proposal likely ran in the direction of pharmacological benefits." Luthor said, extracting his phone from his suit pocket. "We at LexCorp were more interested in... shall we say, _structural_ enhancements." He glanced at the screen, nodded, and then tucked the phone away again. "Insects are remarkably all-terrain. Mr. Rose was to provide my company with a full analysis and break-down of the bio-mechanics of ants and grasshoppers, to name a few."

"I assume this knowledge would go into building new toys for the military." Maggie said. Always the first assumption. Luthor owned more contracts with the military than any other company in the city.

"The military. Search and rescue operations. Local police. Perhaps even your own Special Crimes Unit, Lieutenant Sawyer." the CEO nodded. "We wouldn't know the full length of the possible applications until we've studied it thoroughly."

 _Bugs for the betterment of mankind._ Maggie thought, clamping down on a reflexive shudder. "Did you have him working on any side-projects?" she asked. "With the way the evidence is starting to stack up, we have reason to believe he may have experimented on himself."

Luthor's expression turned vaguely grave. "Oh dear, surely he wouldn't be that careless. Are you sure he wasn't attacked?"

"His lab was spotless and his apartment was lived in, not destroyed." Maggie shook her head. "There was no sign of a struggle at either location. I won't rule it out just yet, but even I'm starting to believe that whatever happened, it happened on his own terms."

The CEO made a thoughtful face and not for the first time, Maggie struggled to figure out what was going on underneath the surface. She was good at reading people, but she had never been able to get a read on Lex Luthor. He had had a lifetime of practice deflecting suspicion off of himself with such skill and precision that you couldn't help but think that he was up to something.

It could very well be that Luthor had nothing to do with the fate of Roderick Rose. That this time around, his hands were clean. But it was going to take hard evidence to convince Maggie of that. Too many accidents had happened around Lex Luthor and his company. Too many _coincidences_ that had worked out in his favor.

"This is troubling news, Lieutenant Sawyer. Thank you for bringing it to my attention." Luthor said cordially. "I shall have my people look into it and I will get back to you with any relevant information."

"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Luthor." Maggie said. She supposed that this meeting had gone as smoothly as it could have. She turned to go find Mercy, who would escort her back to the elevator.

"Lieutenant Sawyer, could I indulge a moment of your time?" Luthor wondered, causing her to turn back around. "Be honest, please. What do you think of me?"

 _Are you serious? What, did you not get your morning cup of ego-stroking? Why are you asking me that?_

But he seriously wanted to know. She could see that much from his patient expression. He probably wouldn't let her walk out until she had given him an answer.

"I think..." Maggie chose her words carefully. "That despite what you think are your best efforts, you're incredibly ostentatious. I think you try too hard to appeal to a jaded younger generation by looking 'cool'. And your ego could pull Jupiter out of orbit."

Luthor smirked and waggled a finger knowingly, like he had figured her out from top to bottom with that answer.

"You read the _Daily Planet_." he said.

Maggie shrugged. "Feels like bias if I read the _Star_." she said. "I would feel the same way even if I didn't. I am a cop, first and foremost, Mr. Luthor. I trust my instincts."

"And what do your instincts tell you about me?" Luthor asked. It wasn't quite accurate to call his smile 'cat-like', but it edged into that territory.

"That you are a man who can become very dangerous and out of control if no one holds you accountable for the actions of you and your company. My instincts tell me that you lie as easily as you breathe and thus bear watching." the lieutenant replied.

Luthor smirked. "I'm glad we understand each other." he said. "Mercy, see to it that Lieutenant Sawyer finds her way out of the building." He looked back at Maggie. "Do have a good day, Lieutenant. I shall keep you apprised of any developments on my end."

Maggie nodded _-_ \- no need to say anything _-_ \- and then turned to follow Mercy back to the elevator.

They did understand each other, however superficially. This had been an evaluation from Luthor's perspective. They had never met face-to-face before _-_ \- Maggie's line of work had never brought her into contact with the CEO before. But her appraisal was accurate, more or less. Men like Luthor weren't skilled at self-regulating and needed someone to keep them in check. Luthor seemed aware of this little deficiency, even if he didn't think it was terribly detrimental.

In turn, Luthor had gotten an accurate measure of the lieutenant and knew where she stood. She would never be any ally of his, but it also might not be wise to make an enemy out of her.

They could probably destroy each other, assuming Ms. Lane didn't get to him first.

That was good to know.

* * *

The day ended and Maggie headed home.

She lived in a one bedroom loft apartment in the middle of St. Martin's Island. It wasn't fancy and she would be the first to admit that it wasn't exactly decoratively furnished, but it was comfortable and that was the most important.

Actually, the fact that Lori had moved in was definitely the most important thing.

Lori Raynes was a reporter for the _Metropolis Star_ and she operated on a different time-table than Maggie, so they didn't see much of each other in the mornings or evenings. Half the time, Maggie returned home with no other thought in her head except to hit the shower, the refrigerator, and her pillow, though not always in that order. Not that it had put the fire out in their relationship. Sometimes it was the rarity that brought a bit of spice.

They had met when Maggie had made truly atrocious attempts to flirt with the bartender at a common lesbian hot-spot, No Man's Land. Maggie had un-closeted herself a few months before making the transfer to Metropolis, so she had been quite new to the idea of considering other women _attractive_ , much less actively garnering their interest. They had been dating for two and a half years and living together for one year and it had been _glorious_.

The smell of cooking food was what greeted Maggie when she let herself in.

"Agh, chicken." she groaned, while her stomach did the same. She sniffed the air appreciatively. "Peanut chicken?"

"Yes, peanut chicken with rice and naan." Lori assured her, looking up from checking the rice. "And hello to you too, stranger."

Maggie dropped her bag on the side-table and barely got her coat off before she reached Lori and wrapped her arms around the other woman. She dropped her head into the crook of her girlfriend's shoulder and breathed in the faint scent of floral perfume. Under her arms, Lori was soft and solid at the same time. Warm, comforting, _home_.

Lori returned the hug, patting her back. "Bad day, love?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna have a lot of those for a while." Maggie admitted. "We've got _nothing_. It's like they vanished into thin air and the Rose case isn't going too well either. He might as well have vanished too."

"Well, I've something that might brighten your day a little." Lori assured her.

"If it involves fluffy hand-cuffs, I'll have to take a rain-check. Food, shower, bed. I don't even want to imagine getting up tomorrow." Maggie grumbled.

Lori giggled, and gently disengaged from the hug. "Nope, nothing like that. There's still ten minutes on dinner, so why don't you go un-hitch yourself from this get-up and get comfortable." she suggested, running fingers over the fitted blazer that didn't quite hide the bulge of the SIG holster.

It sounded like a fantastic idea, getting out of these clothes. Maggie tugged off her shoes and then headed for the stairs up to the loft. The loft area was modestly large, big enough to hold a walk-in closet, a queen-size bed, and the expected accoutrements. The master bath was attached to the opposite wall.

Maggie shed her blazer, blouse, and slacks at the top of the stairs and slung them over the laundry hamper. The closet was just big enough to hold a small dresser, out of which she pulled some sweatpants and a T-shirt that she didn't wear in public. Then into the bathroom to remove her make-up, which was really just some under-eye concealer and some nude lipstick that more or less matched her lip-color. Met P.D. had its regulations and excessive make-up was frowned upon. She ran a comb through her short hair a few times and came back downstairs to find that Lori had already set their small table. Plates, silverware, a lit candle, and a sparkling white wine.

"Lori, I think I love you." she commented.

"You only say that because I've mastered the art of domesticity." Lori said lightly, turning off the heat under the chicken and the rice.

"And you know how to cook."

"More like I have the patience for it."

"Well, it's a very attractive quality."

"Charmer." Lori grinned. "If you want to mix business with pleasure, I found something on that thing you asked me to look into. The missing Metrodale kids. Folder's on the coffee table."

Maggie looked over to see a plain yellow folder in the middle of their coffee table, standing out amidst Lori's usual explosion of post-work papers, her laptop, and a stray collection of books. Then she glanced back to the dining table where the clean plates glimmered slightly under the shivering candle-light.

"Nope." she declared, striding over to the kitchen area with a widening smile. "Pleasure first."

* * *

-0-


	6. Out of One's Depth

Chapter Six: Out of One's Depth

The Special Crimes Unit was a learning experience.

That was how it seemed to Detective Jim Gordon, at least.

He had graduated college _summe cum laude_ with a master's degree in Criminal Justice and then the police academy with flying colors and had come out the other end a detective junior grade inside the Met P.D. Major Crimes Unit. His life had been through some ups and downs and growing pains, but he felt well-rounded for all his experiences. After just about six years of policing, he liked to think that he had a pretty solid grasp on the way things were done and the way they oughta be done.

But Metropolis was a clean-cut city, all straight lines and right angles. It regularly topped lists for being the cleanest and the safest and the friendliest. Being a police officer in Metropolis was a textbook experience, by and large.

Nothing that had happened in the MCU had prepared Jim for working in the SCU.

Four months ago, it would have been a different story, but he had filed his paperwork just as things had started to get strange 'round these parts. When the weirdness had started to creep back out of the woodwork.

The current situation itself wasn't unusual. He was sprinting up a water-front path, chasing a young thief who had been knocking over cash registers at gunpoint. That was normal. As physical as he was used to.

What made it unusual was the thief's ability to throw all manner of rain, snow, sleet, and hail. Jim's trousers were wet up to the knee when he had taken a wave of water. Pea-sized hail had battered his back and shoulders - he was sure to find a pattern of bruising later. And there was going to be a bigger one across his backside from where he had slipped on a freak patch of ice.

Fortunately, the thief didn't demonstrate any control over atmospheric conditions or else he might be dodging lightning strikes.

All the same, it had been a very odd night.

"Stop running!" Jim shouted in between frustrated breaths. "When I say 'Met P.D. freeze', you're supposed to stop!"

He had plenty of juice left in the proverbial tank (a mile and a half endurance run whenever he could manage it), but he had been kept on this merry chase half the night. The SCU had been alerted a little after midnight and the last time he had glanced at his watch, it had been a quarter to four in the morning.

The thief was a male teenager, appearing to be around seventeen or so. Black? Latino? Maybe both. Jim hadn't gotten a good look at the kid's face, but his darker skin, the shape of his features, and the description given by the store-clerks suggested ancestry on both sides.

Colletta had pegged the teenager as a West River resident, though he could have just as easily been from Metrodale as well. His clothes were worn, his shoes had a sort of second-hand appearance, and even the handgun he had waved at the clerks had seen better days. There was a lot of abandoned shops around Oxbay, ones that hadn't necessarily cleared out their stock before upping sticks. And plenty of old buildings that must have been used as supply caches during Sofia Gigante's reign, cut short just a few months ago.

In all likelihood, the teen's habit of knocking over gas stations and convenience stores was one fueled by desperation and hunger. It was an old familiar tune, one Jim had heard a lot of in his six-year run so far. Otherwise decent people driven to a point where they were willing to break the law instead of slowly dying of starvation or exposure.

But theft was theft no matter the reasons for it.

"Godddammit kid, you're not going to jail!" Jim bellowed, his voice echoing slightly in the still night air.

Ideally, at least. Jim wasn't going to pretend that some judges weren't predispositioned to sending black kids to jail over a pack of Skittles, but to its credit, Metropolis did push strongly for fair treatment in the legal system. Police brutality was met with nothing short of a no-pay suspension and malcontent judges were basically thrown from the bench upon discovery.

"Fuck you, piggy!" the teen shouted, spinning around and raising an arm. The street light flashed off the barrel of the gun.

Jim threw himself to the ground reflexively with a "Jeezus!", just as the muzzle flashed and the gun barked. The dull hard pebbles of the pavement bit into the palms of his hands when he flung them out to break the fall. The bullet zinged by harmlessly at shoulder-height where Jim **had** been standing.

He rolled on instinct, going right towards the water instead of left towards the field, which was the best call. The teen fired again, but his aim was off anyways and the bullet zoomed across the empty field. It would have needed a magnetic attraction or a lucky wind to hit him. The boy knew the very basics about using a gun, which amounted to 'point and shoot'.

"Fuck you, fuck you!" the teen shouted and re-aimed the gun back in the detective's direction.

"Shooting an officer is a crime punishable by jail time!" Jim informed him, before he decided to make an even worse decision.

The boy hesitated just long enough for Jim to spring to his feet and throw himself over the railing on the side of the road. The rest of the ground was a few feet down and he hit the short slope hard, face-planting into the cold sand, but otherwise out of harm's way. But there came no subsequent weapon's discharge, just retreating footsteps as the teen took to running away as fast as he could.

Jim hadn't even drawn his gun. Not that he would ever think about shooting a teenager _-_ \- there were lines he wouldn't cross and that was one of them _-_ \- but the uniformed officers who had initially tried to bring the teen in had discovered, to their detriment, that he could use a sheet of ice as a shield and cause ricochet. Shooting at the boy would be just as much a danger to him as it would be to Jim.

"Dammit." he muttered, wiggling his fingers and toes to make sure he hadn't whacked them too hard on the way down.

Satisfied that everything was in order as far as his appendages went, he picked himself up out of the sand and brushed it off his clothes. The boy had managed to vanish down the road in the meantime. Likely, he had left the pavement entirely in order to avoid the street-lights.

But there wasn't much out there for him to hide in. Metropolis was basically the last bastion of civilization on the peninsula. Past the reservoir and you were on protected wetlands and nature preserves. Four more miles up the coast and you were treading the cold waters of Lake Superior. There was a sprinkling of lake-side towns tucked into crevasses on the shore, but this far north, all roads led back to Metropolis.

Jim was given to a moment of indecision. There was still plenty of wilderness out there for the kid to get himself lost in. He had stayed ahead of them all night and he might just let himself sink hip-deep into a marsh due to sheer teenage spite.

On the other hand... The teen might have been a scrappy young fellow, but he was still a city boy. City boys and the countryside were never a good match. They would gravitate back to civilization sooner, rather than later.

Car headlights shone over the crest of the hill down the road, followed almost immediately by the vehicle itself. Jim squinted against the bright glare, raising his hand. He made out the boxy shape of a van and the large-print letters emblazoned down the nearest side and realized that it was one of the new squad vans that the SCU had been given, an early present ahead of the Monday after next's ribbon-cutting on the new building.

And there was definitely someone leaning out the passenger side window, pointing and shouting: "There he is!"

"Shit." he mumbled.

Time to face the music, whatever form it might come in.

Jim clambered up the slope and back over the railing onto the road and the van started to slow. He couldn't tell who was driving, but it was certainly Colletta hanging out the window. She was the only one who had hair long enough to flap in the breeze like that.

He could _just_ make out her facial expression in the glow of the headlights: a mighty scowl that turned her normally cheerful face into something vaguely murderous. If there was one thing that Jim had learned in his first three months in the SCU, it was that Colletta Kanigher was _not_ a person to mess with. She was a green belt kickboxer, which made her formidable enough even without factoring in her ferocious temper.

Something that Jim actually had yet to see. Colletta only exploded when properly provoked and was usually polite enough to pop seams on the punching bags instead of noses. But the cautionary warnings of _"Don't man, just don't."_ said in trembling sort of tones of respect got the point across just the same.

"Jim Gordon!" Colletta bellowed as soon as they were in appreciable hearing range. "What the ever-loving fuck did I say about running off alone?"

"Nothing, actually." Jim pointed out, shrugging with his whole upper body.

"It was _implied_!"

That much was true. Lieutenant Sawyer had several hard and fast rules that she didn't enjoy people breaking and one of them regarded officers who tried to do dumb stupid things like run after the perp all heroically and leave their partner high and dry in the process.

In his defense, they had come out with a four-man team, meaning Colletta had still had two other sets of eyes on her back, but Jim knew that running after the teen had meant leaving his own back exposed.

Further in his defense, this wasn't exactly a situation where any of them could get shot in the back, since the meta-boy was working alone.

But all the same.

"What, you don't like initiative?" Jim joked, though his tone was weak in front of Colletta's considerable scowl. He wasn't supposed to have run off, after all. He shrugged. "I thought I could run him down, end the chase. We've been at this half the night."

"He has a gun. We heard the shots from back there." Colletta said, gesturing vaguely down the road behind them. Her eyes raked up and down his form, searching for any sign of blood or major injury, and was satisfied that she found nothing of the sort.

"And he's getting further away the longer we shoot the breeze here!" snapped out the driver, now identified as Officer James Harper. He had leaned forward to glare over Colletta's shoulder, every crease on his face screaming _'idiot'_.

"Yeah, I know, get in the van." Jim said, pre-empting the next statement.

Still grumbling, Colletta retracted from the window as the detective reached to open the door. She vacated the front seat so he could get in and settled into the bench seat behind the front partition where Steve sat.

"You know, I think I'm going to chew you out on the lieutenant's behalf." James said, eyeing the detective with a somewhat askance glare. He stepped on the gas almost as soon as the other man had the door closed.

"You're welcome to it. It won't be anything I haven't heard before." Jim replied, shrugging. Between Captain Steele's shouted lectures and Commander Friedland's throbbing forehead veins, he must have heard every reprimand under the sun.

"Oh no, you are not in Major Crimes anymore, detective." James started sternly, not about to let this one whoosh off over the horizon untouched. "This isn't your usual bag of violent murderers or pervy kidnappers. _Now_ our violent murderers can shoot bone spikes out of their bodies. The pervy kidnappers are walking through walls."

"Or detaching their eyeballs." Colletta muttered, shivering reflexively over that one.

"Or the murderers are turning into clouds of toxic gas." Steve added. "I've seen that one before. It drove Trask further up the wall than he usually was."

James nodded sagely. "Exactly. That's why you can't cowboy cop your way to an arrest all by your lonesome. No lone ranger heroics. You're Tonto's kemosabe now." he half-snarled.

"That's not a good... The Lone Ranger was only called that because he was a lone survivor. Not someone who works alone." Jim pointed out, frowning.

The redheaded officer inhaled like he was going to argue, but no, that was right. "Okay, so I got it mixed up. But you know what I'm saying!" he argued, jabbing a finger in the detective's direction. "The kid's got an Automag III. They chamber eight rounds, so he's only got three left. Doesn't matter. He can generate ice. How much do you wanna bet that he can throw icicles?"

"Ooh, that'd be so cool." Colletta whispered while Steve nodded in agreement.

"Sharp enough to pierce your neck." James added.

"Still cool." Steve said.

"But it's a fair point, James. Both of you." Colletta went on, crossing her arms. "The gun's gonna run out of ammo, but the kid won't. He can fuck you up with a hailstorm from hell."

"Pea-sized still hurts, but just wait. He'll get to nickel-sized, quarter-sized eventually. Then you're in for a world of pain." Steve agreed, adopting the same posture of crossed arms. "Believe me, detective. If a metahuman thinks they're going to get locked in a box until the end of days, they'll do whatever they can to stay out of it. I know the stories. Trask starred in most of them."

The silence that followed was thick like molasses and full of thoughtful hums. Agent Jason Trask, former director of Bureau 39, had been a nightmare. An egotistical terrorizing nightmare with a grudge-like vengeance against metahumans deeper than the Nile was long. Steve had no idea what had driven Trask to such depths of hatred, but he supposed it all boiled back down to the White Scare.

Everything did.

Metahumans had gone to ground in the aftermath, burying themselves in deep lest they be caught and killed. It had taken years for the anti-metahuman campaigns to die away, but just as they had, Trask had come along with his fanatical reign of terror.

If there had ever been a chance to re-kindle good relations, then Trask had utterly devastated them.

At this point, Steve didn't have too much hope that there was anything left to salvage.

"So... What are we supposed to do about it?" Colletta prompted.

"Ideally? We tell this kid that the world's a better place and hope to hell he believes us." Steve said. "Realistically, he won't, but I figure it's worth a shot. We're the only form of metahuman control task force this side of Sheboygan and Cheboygan and we haven't been shooting anyone in the kneecaps, so frankly, there's hope for us yet."

"Your optimism is inspiring." James said dryly.

"I mean it. No one's dead. We haven't even shot at anyone. We're a cut above the last version already."

"That bar was set pretty low to begin with, Steve." Colletta pointed out.

"Well, I'm glad the general consensus is to not shoot anyone," Jim started. "But what are we going to do about actually _catching_ this kid?"

Getting any armed perp on the ground without anyone getting hurt was a difficult task in of itself, but there was the added complication of the kid being able to lob balls of ice if he so chose to. Convincing him to put down the gun willingly was the first option. Taking him down by force was the second, though Metropolis P.D. typically consigned Use Of Force to Plan B. Talk first, tackle later.

Jim didn't necessarily agree with this; there was some folk out there who just flat didn't want to listen to reason. There came a point where even a good cop had to get a little rough.

"Well, there really isn't anywhere for this kid to go." Colletta said, brow furrowing in thought. "The Byrnes Reservoir... That's pretty nearby, isn't it?"

James nodded. "Right next to the campground. About twenty miles of hiking trails to get lost in. Hard to say if he'll take the plunge or avoid it. I wouldn't take those trails at night unless you really know your way around." he said.

"Anywhere else?" Steve asked, unlocking his phone screen so he could get onto the map app. "I know there's not much else north of the reservoir..."

"Fort LaBelle?" Jim wondered, though it came out a little more a statement than a question. "It butts up right next to the Bete Gris Nature Preserve. The trails are a lot more straight forward. Most of them are paved."

Colletta snapped her fingers triumphantly. "And it has the canoe launch!"

"What, you're saying he could canoe his way back to Metropolis?"

"He might be able to. He's controlling aspects of water, not the weather. All he has to do is make a nice strong current for himself and he could hit Reeve's Harbor in under an hour."

"It's actually not that much of a stretch." James agreed. "Kid's got enough control over what he's doing that manipulating lake currents isn't out of his depth. And Fort LaBelle's closed for the season. No one will be around to raise the alarm."

"He'll beat us there if we go by road." Jim pointed out. The kid could take a straight line over the boggy grass, but the road curved widely to the west before coming back to the east.

"I'll get us there in time." James said, pressing down on the gas slowly. The needle on the speedometer slipped up past seventy. "Gear up." he ordered to the other three. "There is no way this kid is going to come quietly."

"Isn't that my line?" Collette wondered softly.

Though an Officer First Grade with just two years _-_ \- meaning she was outranked by both Jameses _-_ \- Colletta had served the longest in the SCU. By dint of necessary experience, that did make her the senior-most. But James Harper had eight years on the force (nine this summer) and Steve, formerly of Bureau 39, was the only one among them who had any true prior experience at corralling metahumans.

As a detective, Jim was still confused about whose lead they were supposed to be following.

He rubbed a thumb over the nicotine patch on the inside of his wrist. God, he really wanted a cigarette. Seven months since going cold turkey and the patch didn't seem to be helping all that much.

There was relative silence as they followed the road up the peninsula. Jim kept an eye out the window as though he was hoping to spot their runner dashing through fields. He also briefly thought about grabbing the wheel from James and sending them roaring across the grass, but with the amount of precipitation they had around this time of year, there was bound to be more mud on the ground than ground.

In the back seat, Steve and Colletta checked over the gear for the third time that night, to make sure it was still in working order, occasionally murmuring to themselves and each other. James lead-footed the gas pedal, wearing a look of vague displeasure.

It was still something close to ten minutes before the walls of the old lake-side fort came into sight.

Fort LaBelle had been originally built by French fur traders in the very early seventeen hundreds. It had been in semi-continuous use until 1903, surviving just long enough to be named a protected, historic landmark. During the warm months, it was a spot of interest for tourists, school groups and history enthusiasts who wanted to learn about life in seventeen whatever, complete with historical re-enactors. There were look-out posts spaced at each corner, defensive bulwarks, and a deep-ish moat dug around the outer wall as an added line of defense. There were canoe tours that followed the same route the traders had taken along the water.

It was still surrounded by much of the original old growth forest, though some of the pasture land had been paved over in favor of parking lots. The walls were fifteen feet high, made from local oak, and so old that they had turn gray and petrified. They had withstood three centuries worth of harsh winters where the snow got high enough to meet the top of the wall. The fort was irregularly shaped, like a hexagon that had pulled too far to one side.

It was more accurate to call the fort an enclosed community, as it had housed about thirty families at any given time, even after the British had taken it from the French and then had later lost it to the newly-declared United States. There was a church, a small school house, and the pride of the fort seemed to have been the large tavern/hotel just off the center square.

James killed the headlights just before they rounded the final turn into the parking lot and turned off the engine. The four police officers sat in the dark for a moment, looking at the closed walls of the fort.

"Let's try and do this quickly." Colletta said from the back. "Jim's right, we've been on this kid's ass half the night and frankly, I'm tired of chasing him in circles. Just no shooting him in the kneecaps."

She looked a bit sternly at Jim when she said this.

"I have no history of shooting anyone in the kneecaps." the detective said, crossing his arms.

He frowned as Colletta and James shared a somewhat knowing look with each other over the front seat. It was common knowledge that the MCU was a bit of an _undisciplined_ lot, used to employing force when it came to bringing down belligerent criminals. And that some of their officers were a bit too trigger-happy. They were a large group. Five disciplinary referrals a week added up.

But still, Jim Gordon did not pop people in the kneecaps.

Feet, yes. Shoulders, sometimes.

He also made an effort to avoid the center body-mass as much as possible.

"All right, if I'm remembering the layout correctly, the only way to reach the canoe launch is through the fort itself." James said. "Not unless our meta plans to wade through eight yards of hip deep water and six-foot cat-tails. The mud around there is half clay; it'll suck you under."

"That sounds like experience." Colletta commented, peering at the wooden walls and the locked entry gate facing the parking lot.

James shrugged. "It's a long story. There were stolen diamonds involved."

"Well, don't tell us now. Let's bag the kid first." Jim suggested, starting to feel antsy that they were taking so long to get started.

"Right." the officer nodded. "Steve, any last minute advice?"

"Um... Be careful." Steve said, shrugging. He cringed slightly under the confused glances aimed at him. "That's all I've got, people. Bureau 39 had some piece of equipment that could negate a metahuman's powers so they could be subdued safely, but we don't even have an office building. We either successfully talk him down or we shoot him in the foot before he stabs us with an icicle."

"Still sounds like experience." Colletta commented under her breath. In the silence of the van, it didn't go unnoticed, but they chose not to comment on it. They were out of time to waste. She clapped her hands once, pointedly. "Right, we need to get a move on or we'll lose him. Steve, since you've go the prior experience, you take point."

Jim frowned. "Hang on _-_ -"

"No time to make an argument out of it, Detective!" Colletta interrupted, pushing him on the shoulder. "You can take point next time after you've logged some longer hours in the metahuman subduing business!"

The detective grumbled, but piled out of the van anyways without another word. He had to concede to the point that he was still very new to the idea of arresting a metahuman and while they had done their best to run drills, Detective Jones was never actively attempting to harm them. James Harper seemed to be bowing to Colletta's department seniority and she in turn was bowing to Steve's prior experience. That meant that Jim himself was expected to do the same, regardless of his rank.

Well, as long as they had the chain of command sorted out.

The four-man team advanced across the parking lot as silently as they could. Closer to the walls, it was easier to make out the details. The main gate was still closed and visibly locked. There was no sign that any wall-climbing had occurred. They stood beside the moat and listened for any unusual sounds in the night.

"Is he already inside or did we beat him here?" Colletta wondered in a low whisper.

"Are there any service entrances? Maybe grates for the water?" Steve asked, looking around at them.

"There's at least one service entrance around the back side. Also, I've broken in here before." James admitted, his cheeks darkening for a moment. He shrugged, embarrassed. "The lock is easy to jimmy open even when you're drunk."

"We aren't supposed to break the law, Harper." Colletta hiss-whispered. She might have gone on admonishing him for his drunken misadventures, but Steve's raised eyebrows and his _'really, now?'_ expression pre-empted that.

"Lead the way, Harper." the former agent instructed.

The service entrance was around to the north side of the fort, tucked behind one of the circular bulwarks and hidden from sight by some slightly obtrusive shrubbery that they had to shoulder through, and across the concrete bridge spanning the moat. It was a wide industrial garage door that normally would have been padlocked shut, but the brief shine of a flashlight showed that that was no longer the case. The padlock lay on the ground, broken, in a puddle of water and half-melted ice.

"Well." was all James could drudge up to say about it.

"He's probably just a few minutes ahead of us. We might be able to catch him before he gets to the canoes." Jim commented, stepping over to the door so he could pull it up. "I think they're locked up this time of year."

The door rattled up just loudly enough to make them cringe but at least it didn't screech and squeal like another might have. They ducked under the bottom and found themselves standing in the backyard of a building that smelled like it had been marinating in cigarette butts and marijuana smoke all winter. There was a sprinkling of crushed glass shards on the concrete and this strange sense of neglect that came with places that were shut down six months out of the year. The yard had closed gates on either side leading out into alleys, but they were the chain-link sort that was easy to climb.

"Uh... What part of the fort are we in?" Colletta wondered. She was used to entering this place from the other direction, so her mental map had been turned on its head.

"That's the hotel." James said, gesturing to it. "I broke in there too. I played waltzes the piano for about four hours before anyone realized I was there."

Colletta, Jim, and Steve just _-_ \- _looked_ at him with expressions that bordered on confusion and curiosity at the same time. It wasn't that none of them had ever gotten up to drunken teenage shenanigans and done some strange things under the influence, but it was mostly just the mental image of the usually put together James Harper breaking into a restored hotel and playing the _Blue Danube_ on a two century old grand piano. In the last month since they had gotten to know him, they understood he was usually quite serious and solemn.

"I know, I know." James nodded. "Never get drunk with me unless you're planning to end the night playing some slap-happy version of card games. I'm a boring drunk. Anyways, the docks are that way." he added, pointing to the left-hand gate.

Steve shook his head briskly, as though resetting his brain. "Right." he nodded, getting back to business. "We have a metahuman to bring in."

He didn't have a gun in his hand to cock like some sort of bad-ass, but the expression he wore gave the same impression.

They were over the gate in a matter of minutes and moving out of the alley. The lanes had been cobbled over some time during Fort LaBelle's long history, but it meant there were no footprints to follow. They had no way of knowing exactly which route the meta-boy had taken, but the given the chase he had led them on since midnight, he had most likely taken the most direct path.

The narrow streets were dark, forcing them to take out the flashlights. In an effort to preserve a sense of historical accuracy, the fort had been sparingly wired to the electrical grid. There was no visible signs of modernization (unless you went looking for the toilets). The old street-lanterns had been restored and featured the seemingly-ancient Edison bulbs, but none of them were lit. The buildings didn't exactly loom - they were a squat two stories as to not rear up over the protection of the wall - but they were packed close together and nearly on top of one another, making the lanes feel more narrow and dark than they already were.

"Normally, I'd say 'spread out'," Steve started in a low voice. "But I have this feeling we'd lose each other before we find the kid."

"We'd lose you, Steve-o." Colletta pointed out. One couldn't live in Metropolis since childhood or for more than a year without eventually paying this place a visit. With slightly less than four months of residency in the city, this was Steve's first time here.

"Just stay close." James interjected.

They could hear the water of Lac LaBelle sloshing gently up against the shore before they saw the docks. The old store-houses had been left standing, blocking a direct line of access to the docks. One of the store-house doors had been broken open, standing slightly ajar. Steve didn't know which one of them let out a swear _-_ \- it might have been him _-_ \- but he burst into a sprint. He went around the corner without stopping to look (something he would reprimand himself for later, because that wasn't proper protocol), and pulled up short. The other three joined him a second later.

Lac LaBelle still managed to glitter despite the minimal light. The docks were black silhouettes reaching out over the water. A canoe was there, one of the smaller, lighter ones that would carry two moderately sized people. It was laying on its side with a thick plastic paddle halfway tilted over the edge of the pier. The scene had the appearance of having been abandoned very quickly.

"Well, he _was_ here." Steve said.

"He must have cut and run as soon as he heard us coming." Colletta opined.

"We should _-_ -" Steve started, taking a step.

"Wait." Jim raised a hand so abruptly that the flat of it caught the former agent in the middle of the chest. "Look." he instructed, pointing down with the flashlight beam.

The white LEDs lit up drops of liquid on the ground. Telltale ruby red, in a patchy trail leading away from the dock and past them back into the fort.

"See? He didn't cut and run because he heard us. He cut and run because someone attacked him." Jim told them. "Leg injury, most likely. Below the knee. Maybe some social degenerate who was hiding under the pier. Tried to hamstring him for funsies. You do get creeps like that in this city."

"The blood trail heads up the road." James observed, shining his light up the trail of crimson drops. They shone wetly in the light, turning sharply to the left and towards the southern wall.

"Stay sharp, boys. Our second new best friend is probably still around here somewhere." Colletta reached one hand into her jacket where her SIG was holstered under her arm.

"We should find the kid first and get him out of here, if he's the one bleeding." Steve suggested, turning a slow circle. He wasn't sure what he expected to see _-_ \- maybe a crazy-eyed wild man with a bloody knife. That wouldn't be out of place even around here, right?

"Kanigher, Harper, watch our six. If anything moves, light it up." Steve instructed, slipping into his more professional agent demeanor. "Gordon, how good are you at talking down frightened suspects with guns?"

"Not very." Jim admitted.

"But you've done it before? Successfully?"

"Mostly."

"Then you're up to bat, let's go."

They headed for the round bulwark in the southeast corner. It was a good defensible location even inside the fort, albeit with minimal air circulation. It had been designed an emergency store-house for munitions, meaning it was dry and waterproof. Made from granite hewn to a foot thick and with a heavy oak door that could also be locked from the inside, it must have passed for a short-term panic room as well. Their meta-kid had displayed significant amounts of common sense tonight, so if he had shut himself in anywhere, it would be inside the bulwark.

Most tellingly so, the door wasn't closed all the way. There was a several-inch wide gap between the door and the frame. Steve nodded and gestured Jim forward. The detective made sure to drop all tension from his shoulders to look relaxed and he sidled up to the door with the flashlight pointed at his feet.

"Hey in there." he called out softly. "We saw the blood on the ground. Are you all right?"

There was no reply, but Jim heard something that sounded like harsh breathing.

"You know, this room wasn't designed for ventilation and I'd bet the air is already a little stale, so I'm just going to nudge the door open a little." he said.

He gave the door a hard tap and it rocked inwards a little. He pushed the door a little more firmly and it creaked open a full six inches before it stopped up against something heavy. Jim tilted his head until he could see through the gap and move the flashlight into the nearly-pitch black room.

And there was their metahuman. Dark-skinned, black and Hispanic parentage, about seventeen years old. He was huddled up against the back wall with his hands wrapped around the lower part of his right calf so tightly the knuckles were starting to show white. Sweat shone on his forehead and his eyes were wide, his expression a portrait of fear. He eyed the detective more apprehensively than warily, but Jim could see his shoulders tense and his left leg shifted like he was going to pull it under him in preparation to bum-rush the door.

The gun was nowhere in sight.

"Uh... Hi." Jim said politely, his voice low. "How's the leg feeling? Is the bleeding bad?"

The kid didn't say anything, but his eyes flickered off the detective and down to his leg for a brief second. His shoulders moved up and down in something like a shrug, like he didn't want to answer to the police officer he had shot at, but there was a part of him that spoke in his parents' voices and told him to mind his manners.

"Look, you're not in as much trouble as you think you're in." Jim went on. "The judges are open to negotiation. The stores you were knocking over might even be willing to lighten the charges or drop them altogether if you're willing to return the money."

"B-But _-_ \- But I'm _-_ -" the kid started, sputtering. He shrugged some more in lieu of waving his hands. Fear crept back in two-fold.

"I know you are." Jim said, nodding. "But were you using them to hurt anyone?"

"No." the teen said. "The gun ain't mine either! And I didn't shoot anyone!" he added hastily.

"Where's the gun now?" Jim asked.

"Dropped it in the water. When I..." The teen nodded down to his leg.

"I know." Jim brought his other hand into sight. "Look, no guns. The only reason you're in trouble tonight is because of the stolen money. The only reason the SCU was put on the case is because we have experience in dealing with meta-powers. We take you down to the station, you get booked and you get your phone call, bail, court date, take community service if the judge offers it. We do this nice and calmly, and you can be home in time for breakfast. Does that sound okay? _Anything_ 's got to be better than sticking around here for too long."

The teen's face twisted uncertainly, but he was starting to lose some of the skepticism that had been there from the start.

"My name's Jim." the detective went on, to establish some level of familiarity. "The ones behind me are Colletta, Steve, and the redhead is James. What's your name?"

"Uh... Ignacio." the teen replied, a tad hesitantly.

"Ignacio? With the name like that, you should be breathing fire instead." Jim commented, grinning.

"Yeah, I wish." Ignacio agreed, a small smile crossing his face. "'Stead I get to play with water."

"Don't underestimate what you can do with a snowball." Jim advised. "Do you think you can stand? We've got a first aid kid back in the van. We can wrap up that leg and then we can get an actual doctor to take care of it."

Ignacio nodded. "Okay."

"Okay." Jim parroted. "Now I'm going to push the door open. Do you want me to help me to your feet or can you get up on your own?"

"I got it." the teen said, taking his hands away from his leg. Once he had pulled them away, it was easy to see the rime of frost on his ripped pants. A nasty-looking cut ran from his ankle and up three inches worth of flesh. The blood just inside the cut looked like it had been frozen there.

The door hadn't been barricaded very thoroughly _-_ \- just with a wooden crate that hadn't been very heavy to begin with. Jim pushed it open easily while Ignacio leaned against the wall on his way up. He rocked his leg back and forth a few times before trusting his weight to it and hobbled over to the door. Jim held out a hand for the boy to take. Ignacio gave the detective a look like he was being insulted, but took it anyways.

Jim half-pulled, half-led the kid out of the bulwark room. Steve stood nearby with his most non-threatening smile in his place. Colletta and James had their backs to the scene, keeping an eye on the darkness.

"Anything out there?" Jim asked, closing the door as Ignacio hobbled past.

"Nah, still all clear." Colletta replied, shaking her head. "Hey kid, this guy that got you. What did he look like?"

"What? No, wait!" Ignacio might have jumped a good six inches off the cobbles if his knee hadn't had wavered under him. As it was, his face drained of color, making the whites of his eyes stand out all the more. "Wait! It was a thing!"

His sudden shout made James and Colletta turn around to look curiously at him.

"A thing?" Steve repeated questioningly.

"A thing!" The teen waved a hand at his injured leg. "That did this! No way it was human! It looked like _-_ -! That!"

He pointed past them with a shaking finger, over the shoulders of James and Colletta. His eyes were riveted to a spot a few feet above their heads. An unsettled chill came over them and a gut-wrenching feeling of foreboding. From the expression twisting Ignacio's face, it was clear that the last thing they'd want to do was turn around and see what he was pointing at. But at the same time, that very human sense of curiosity prompted them to do just that, however slowly.

Jim wasn't sure which one of them looked first, because there wasn't even a horrified gasp.

Standing _-_ \- standing? laying? sprawled? stretched out? _-_ \- entirely too close was what might as well have been a giant centipede. It had about nine legs on each side of a long body that was covered in black and brown chitin, but that was pretty much where the resemblance came to an end. Huge red multi-faceted eyes rested on a mantis-like head. Long mandibles curved over an alarmingly human mouth, if it weren't for the row of needle-pointed teeth and the maybe-saliva that hung in thin threads from the lips. Nine legs, and two more apprendages out of the torso-area that were long, jointed in four places, and ended in four grasping fingers and long claws. It swayed gently from side to side.

They had gotten Violet Parr to a sketch artist, so they could have some kind of visual on the non-human creature that had attacked her and their two detectives. The original report had said the creature was seven or eight feet long, but the fucker looked a lot closer to twelve feet now.

It wasn't a centipede. Rather, it looked horribly like it was something that might have been human once upon a time. There was a bulge of a nose and a bob of an Adam's apple in the hollow of the throat. The red eyes didn't glitter mindlessly, but with a thoughtful intelligence, as though it was debating how to best attack them now that they had seen it.

There was a loud click-click of an artificial camera shutter and light flashed in front of Colletta, where she was holding her phone up. The beast flinched at the light and a semi-transparent membrane flickered diagonally across the eyes. Then it turned to her, looking almost offended, and screamed. A high-pitched whistling scream like a tea kettle left on the heat too long. One that had Colletta reflexively clamping her hands over her ears rather than bolting-

The huge insectoid lunged.

" _Etta_! _Drop_!" James bellowed, his gun up and aimed before Jim had even seen him draw it.

Colletta had already been pinwheeling back from the instant the insectoid had started at her, but James's shout practically drove her to the ground and out of the way. The gun barked twice, two loud bangs that should have echoed in the confined walls of the fort.

Jim didn't wait to see if the bullets found their mark. He grabbed Ignacio around the shoulders and hauled him off to the right, around the creature's backside. From the corner of his eye, he saw Steve leap into the fray, gun halfway in hand, the other reaching for Colletta who was frantically scuttling backwards. The movement drew Jim's eye and for half a second, he was torn between turning around and helping his fellow officers, and getting Ignacio out of here safely. Because both were expected of him and his hand was touching the grip of the SIG when Ignacio twisted around and bounced his head off the wall.

* * *

-0-


	7. All Angles

With this update, the story is officially going on hiatus for the summer. Y'all ain't reviewin so it's hard to judge the level of interest. Creatively, I'm all backed up on the Flash origin story.

On the other hand, there's this Harry Potter Marauder era Fuck Canon AU that's coming out instead and the first chapter is ready to go whenever. It'll go up soon. Like Harry Potter? Keep an eye on my profile.

* * *

Chapter Seven: All Angles

In the three years Maggie had commanded the SCU, she had never seen her people look this much like a bunch of sorry ragamuffins.

The primary reason was the search. With the three-day deadline passed, the search had been downgraded from 'warm bodies' to 'cold bodies'. That alone had taken a toll on department morale and there was only so much that pizza and beer on the job could bring back.

Jim had passed all concussion checks, but it didn't change the color of the bruises speckling down the side of his cheek and it didn't make his grumpy expression vanish. He had been one-upped by a seventeen-year old, his head bounced off a wall. His ego was feeling as sore as his head.

Colletta looked very disappointed in herself, cradling a bandaged arm against her chest while she stared morosely into her coffee. Steve sat there like a schoolboy waiting to be scolded, his right ankle elevated and iced. James, oddly, appeared completely unharmed, but was certainly the most ruffled that Maggie had seen him so far. Dirt smudged all down his cheeks and neck, and his red hair stood on end.

The four of them sat to her left in varying degrees of indignancy. They had given her their report on what had happened at Fort LaBelle just hours ago and Maggie wasn't sure how much of it she actually believed, visual evidence be damned.

To her left was the rest of the squad. Rather than shuttle them all into the conference room for the Friday morning report, she had simply instructed them to pull their chairs up to the empty space near the front of the bullpen where they could see the television screen. They gnawed on donuts and grappled with hot mugs of good coffee like it was a lifeline and watched her with the placid expressions of people who didn't have the energy to give a fuck.

Lyle was exhausted, visibly so, clutching a mug of thick coffee with a zombie-like grip while his right eye twitched now and then. He had cracked the encryption on the external hard-drive an hour earlier, triumphantly informing her of this as she had arrived.

But he was so tweaked out from too little sleep and too many energy drinks that he could barely string a full sentence together, much less concentrate on the file long enough to see what it said. The coffee was decaf. Maggie was hoping for the placebo effect to kick in and that Lyle would last long enough for someone to take him home.

The rest looked like they had simply not slept well.

Only Captain Jase and their newbie Mitch looked any kind of spritely and alive.

"Okay, good morning, everyone." Maggie said, getting a half-hearted murmur in return. "One thing before we get started, before I forget. Please meet our new department member, Mitch Coleman."

Mitch all but bounced to his feet with a massive grin and waved enthusiastically. He was too excited to be here to be put off by the mumbled, lackluster greeting and the absence of anything resembling a welcome.

"He's joining us as our forensic tech in the realm of the squishy and organic. He's our CSI. We'll do a proper welcome party later." the lieutenant said, waving for him to sit down. "Moving on. Good news and bad _-_ \- Well, bad news and okay news." she amended. "The search is officially downgraded. That's the bad news. The okay news is that we might have a visual on what we're looking for. This was taken last night up at Fort LaBelle by Officer Kanigher and it matches the artwork."

She clicked the remote and the television screen flickered to life. The photo of the centipede creature had been run through a filter to enhance the light quality and bring out some of the details. It had had the side-effect of making the red eyes gleam and the needle-teeth shine. The moment it appeared on the screen, Mills did a spit-take that spilled a mouthful of coffee on to the floor and Turpin choked loudly on his, sounding a bit like he was trying to swear. Detective Jones had been about to bite into a donut when he froze, his expression transforming slowly into horror while the rest of the SCU recoiled with a collective noise of disgust.

Maggie smirked.

"This is our ugly fucker with a face no mother could love." she said. "This photo has been in the possession of the SCU for slightly less than three hours now. Aside from myself and Sergeant Escudero, you people are the first to see it. Now, does _anybody_ have any ideas what we might be dealing with? Any bug that might have the general body shape of a centipede?"

A questioning glance flickered around the room from person to person. Even having seen it in the flesh, Colletta, Steve, and the Jameses could barely describe the beast. They had relied on the photograph to do most of the talking for them. It also didn't look like Jones would be saying any words some time soon. His expression was one of alarming horror, the worst Maggie had seen from him in a long time. Maybe it was because he finally had some kind of face to put to what he had sensed near the old steelworks and the association wasn't going to be doing his nightmares any favors.

"Well, I'll be damned." Captain Jase started, his voice coming out loud in the relative silence. He tilted his head. "It looks like a hellgrammite."

"What's a hellgrammite?" Maggie asked.

"Insect. It's the larval form of a dobsonfly." Captain Jase explained. "They usually live near streams, creek-beds. They're partially aquatic, so finding this thing just off the lake-shore wouldn't be unlikely... Assuming it _is_ a hellgrammite or at least _derived_ from one."

"Larval." Maggie repeated. She really didn't like the fact that that word had come up. "Captain, are you suggesting that this thing could potentially pupate into an adult form?"

Captain Jase shrugged. "I'm not saying it _could_ , but that thing looks like it put on fifty pounds in the last week." he said. "It's definitely wider around than it was in the original report."

"Longer too." Steve said, speaking up for the first time. "Seven or eight feet according to the witness, but last night, it was a lot closer to twelve. Whether it pupates or not, it's still growing _really_ fast."

"And that's a lot of bug to deal with." Jim added.

"Maggie." Turpin raised his hand briefly. "If this thing's growing at least a foot a day, I think we're going to need to take it down as soon as possible, before it gets any bigger."

"I know." the lieutenant agreed. "This thing brought down two of our own. I _will_ see about getting marching orders for as early as tomorrow night." she promised, glancing over at Captain Jase, who nodded back. "In the meantime, I want two of you... Uh, Mills, Jones, as soon as we're done here, get to work on marking down areas where we might find this asshole. Uninhabited shore line."

"If it's growing, then it probably isn't going too far from civilization." Captain Jase added. He didn't need to say that if the beast was growing, then it had a steady supply of food, most likely in the form of stray animals and people who didn't run fast enough.

"Yeah, Fort LaBelle's only three or four miles from city limits. Get me a potential radius of activity. Anywhere outside the city where missing pet reports are at an all-time high." Maggie said. "Jones, do your thing too. See if there's anything... We need to find this _-_ \- Hellgrammite."

Mills fired off a salute. "Yes ma'am."

Jones nodded slowly, his gaze still fixed at a point on the floor just in front of the lieutnenant's feet.

"Continuing on the subject of the Hellgrammite," Maggie continued, clicking off the television screen so no one was distracted by the photo. "At the expense of his sleep and momentary sanity, Lyle cracked through the security on the external hard-drive we seized from the lab of Roderick Rose. I bring this up, because Mr. Rose is an entomologist who has been missing for the better part of a week and a half. All that seems to be left of him is a pile of shed skin."

There was a collective flinch, but no one had the mass recoil of disgust. In a department so small, it was impossible to prevent cases from spilling over onto another person's desk. By now, everyone knew scattered details to the Rose case, particular the pile of abandoned skin.

"Mr. Rose was working on some kind of research for both LexCorp and Future World Industries. His research still doesn't make a damn lick of sense to me, but excessive use of the internet has pointed me in the direction of genetic enhancements and DNA mutations. All things considered, I have my suspicions that Mr. Rose may have experimented on himself and turned himself into this Hellgrammite."

 _That_ got the disgusted recoil. It was Sergeant Kesel who did the spit-take this time.

"Lieutenant! You can't be serious!" she sputtered, wiping her chin. "That's _-_ \- That's impossible! Regardless of what he did to himself, it would take _multiple_ treatments of _-_ \- of whatever to get a reaction that dramatic! That is several months of repeated _-_ \- injections, let's say. And if he did do tutoring work on the side, then someone would have noticed something much sooner."

"And six months ago, I would have told you that _Superman_ was an impossible sight." Maggie said. "Sergeant, please, we live in a world where a college chemistry assignment gave a man super speed. I am this close _-_ -" She held up two fingers barely a centimeter apart. "To giving up on the idea that some things are just impossible."

Sergeant Kesel didn't look like she wanted to subside. Her mind was analytical. She had been chasing narcotics for her entire police career. She had seen what drugs could do to a person, but it almost always took the long term for the addict to get to the bad point. There could be bad reactions from just one dose, but what the lieutenant was implying was downright unheard of.

At the same time, it rankled at the sergeant, because Maggie was right. This wasn't the same SCU as six months ago. This wasn't even the same Metropolis as six months ago. The world may have been _normal_ for a time, but super powers and superhumans had been the natural state of things for several decades previous and they were getting back into that now.

This sort of thing had happened before and it looked like it was happening again.

"This thing has been around for as long as Mr. Rose has been missing." Maggie went on, seeing that her fourth wasn't about to make an argument out of it. "Mr. Rose's skin was a week old by the time we found it and the Hellgrammite was eating a dog-walker as early as the Tuesday before. You know the duck rule, folks. Around here, we call it the Pierce Protocol. So unless we get some damning evidence otherwise, I suggest we operate with the assumption that Mr. Rose played mad scientist on himself."

James scowled, Colletta shivered, and a few people towards the back frowned. Maggie had to admit that she didn't like the way this was shaping up. It set an unwelcome precedent for future mad scientists. For the things that might happen and the things the SCU had no idea how to deal with. Even this situation already seemed like too much and they were barely knee-deep in it.

"On that note, I've got nothing else." Maggie finished. "Mitch, get to work on the files from the external and let me know if you need a geneticist or something. You four are dismissed for the day and if one of you could take Lyle home too..."

"I've got him." James offered, already standing up to retrieve the tweaked out digital tech.

"Everyone else, work. You know what you need to do." Maggie made shooing motions, dismissing them. The chairs squeaked as everyone started to return to their desks. "Actually, Detective Gordon, wait a minute. My office."

She beckoned to him. Jim stood up and pushed his chair back under his chest before he followed the lieutenant to her small, slightly musty office. There were two cardboard boxes on the floor - all that was left of her files from before the SCU explosion. She had never bothered to put them in a filing cabinet, especially now that they were going to be out of here in slightly over a week.

"Something I can do, Lieutenant?" Jim asked, privately wondering if he was going to reprimanded for letting Ignacio the metahuman slip away.

"There are kids going missing in Metrodale." Maggie said, presenting him with the file folder. "I put word around with some of my journalism contacts and this is what they got back to me. Since this fell in the SCU's lap first, we need to prove that it's got nothing to do with us before we can kick it down to Missing Persons."

Jim blinked. "You want me to look into missing kids?" he asked incredulously. How... _mundane_.

"It's nothing new for you, I know, but like I said: we've got to disprove any _-_ \- supernatural connections so Missing Persons can take it without any jurisdictional issues." the lieutenant said. "I checked your record. You flip-flopped between this and homicide. You already know what to look for."

"That's true." Jim admitted, taking the folder from her.

"Colletta says you have more street-level connections than the rest of us put together." Maggie added.

"That is also true."

He flipped open the folder and gave the first page of information a quick once-over. The first page alone featured more than three dozen names and accompanying street addresses. He was sure that if he went into the system and cross-referenced all of the names, he would probably find a lost child report for most of them.

"Is there any distinct connection I should be looking for? On the kidnappers or the kids?" he asked.

"It's Metrodale; all the kids on that list are poor, disadvantaged, and not white. You'd better put on your racial profiling glasses." the lieutenant said. It did pain her a little to say that; she had spent her entire career hoping she would never have to. "The kidnappers seem to be a range of people, but the two most consistent are a young redheaded white woman in a cat-suit, and an older black man wearing a dark gray baggy coat."

"And all I have to do is make sure there's nothing Veitch-weird about it." Jim said, mostly for confirmation.

Maggie nodded. "That's it. Once you've got the proof, just give it back to me and I'll pass it down the line." She made shooing motions. "Go get started. The sooner we get this one off our docket, the less we have to worry about."

"Trust me, I'll have this wrapped by Monday." Jim assured her, briefly touching two fingers to his forehead. "Missing kids are easy. It's murders that are tricky."

"I'd argue that it's about the same level of difficulty." Maggie said, shrugging.

The detective smirked a little smugly. Even if it was work more mundane than he had gotten used to, she had chosen the best man for the job. Not that Jim doubted the skills of his fellow detectives, but when had they last engaged in strictly detective work? They were, dare he say it, out of practice.

Jim returned to his desk and opened up the folder to sift through the information. He pulled up the police database of missing people on his computer so he could cross-reference the names and set to work.

Ninety minutes later, he had to admit that the lieutenant's reporter contacts had been fairly thorough. They had unearthed upwards fifty names between them. Most of them had Metrodale and West River addresses attached and a few had confirmed reports filed with the child division of Missing Persons. Those were dated within the last year. The earliest two reports dated occurred in February of last year, just days apart.

Jim supposed there was truly nothing unusual about those two disappearances. Kasey Hughes, a half-Latino fifteen-year old last spotted on his way to school. His absence had been noted by his teachers, marked for truancy, and the office had called his parents about an hour later to see why he was absent. The police report hadn't been filed until late evening when everyone was sure he was missing.

The detective in charge had dutifully retraced the teen's steps from home to school. Young Kasey had always stopped off at a mini-mart on the corner for a sandwich. That particular morning, he had been a dollar short and the clerk recalled a pretty redheaded woman loaning him four quarters. And _that_ was the last time anyone seen him.

The second report occurred just two days later, on the edge of Vernon just far enough away that no one would have thought there was a connection. The victim was twelve-year old Sarah Richardson, an adopted orphan from the Republic of Congo. She had been leaving school for the day the last time anyone was sure they had seen her. She always walked straight home past a small park. This detective hadn't been nearly as thorough, but the area was better monitored by traffic cameras. A description of the footage revealed that Miss Richardson had been followed away from the park by a tall, voluptuous woman with red hair. _En route_ to home, she had vanished.

 _Well, it's not exactly coincidental._ Jim thought.

He dug through the rest of the reports, which covered about half the names on the list, and searched out specific phrases. The redheaded woman made appearances in about fourteen of the remaining reports. Four of them listed her as acting alone and one where she had an entourage. In the other nine, she was accompanied by that purported older black man in his baggy gray coat. The man made eight solo appearances and four more where he had an entourage of his own. Between the two of them, they were confirmed to have walked off with twenty-six children in the last year alone.

Just _walked_ off, according to the few witnesses. No struggling, no crying, no screaming from the kids. Just nice and quiet like these two adults were family friends or close relatives. It hadn't even occured to the witnesses that a kidnapping had been going on.

 _Okay. That's a little weird._ Jim admitted.

In an area like Metrodale and West River, kids mostly likely had stranger danger pounded into their heads; the first lesson they ever got in school. Scream, shout, cry as loudly as possible, make some noise and make sure that people noticed you.

To go so quietly and so willingly suggested the kids were either threatened or tempted with some rare treat or...

Jim's first instinct was to deny that there was any super power business at work, but the circumstances were strange enough that he oughta to consider it. Stranger danger was something the kids of Metrodale would know all too well. They were underprivileged, but not stupid. Random strangers were not to be trusted, regardless of what they were offering.

 _So... So... Maybe it's... hyponosis?_ Jim felt a little stupid for even letting the thought cross his mind. But given the way Metropolis had been these last few months, he had to consider _all_ possible angles.

Even meta-powers.

Hell, some kid had been throwing hail stones at him yesterday and then the newly dubbed Hellgrammite.

 _All_ angles.

There was no real connection between the kids either. Almost entirely minority groups or half and half _-_ \- just two fully white kids in the entire bunch. Most of the names that didn't have reports attached were clearly not of Anglo-European origin. At best, the first generation children from immigrants. The age range went as young as eight to as old as sixteen, though there were some adult outliers. The adults were easier to track in the sense that they had former employment records, but had dropped off the grid as early as three years ago.

 _What could possibly be the connection between all of these people? Okay, the obvious one is their living situations. Poor neighborhoods, low income, minority groups. And several decades worth of segregation and prejudice ensuring that their sudden disappearances would be overlooked by law enforcement. Yes, there are my racial profiling goggles._ Jim thought wryly, hands laced together under his chin. _But there's a detail I'm missing. These people were taken because their absences would be noticed far too late, but that's only the secondary reason. The primary reason is what's not here._

And taken for what? There were possibilities. Not all of the mad scientist villian types had died in the Scare. Not all of them had been arrested either. Some had gotten away and disappeared into anonymity. Two decades on and they could have considered it safe to return to their experiments.

 _Ugh, no_. He was supposed to dispprove any connection to the strange and unusual, not go looking for it. More likely it was run-of-the-mill sex trafficking or something equally despicable.

They didn't have time for anything more complicated.

Jim took his glasses off to pinch the bridge of his nose, and then shook his head wearily. He stretched his arms out above his head, leaning back to work the kinks out of his spine. He rubbed a thumb over the nicotine patch on the inside of his wrist, a nervous habit he had gotten into lately. The patch never seemed to do its job. Maybe he should look into the gum form later. It might soften the cravings a little more if he had something to chew on that wasn't a pen or his fingernails. Six months and not a cigarette, though; he was proud of his progress.

 _Well..._

The detective stood up and grabbed his coat. He wasn't going to get any more done on this from his desk chair. It was time to go out and get in touch with his street contacts.

* * *

While Detective Gordon busied himself with the file, Maggie began to make her own inquiries. Another phone call to Future World Industries got her nowhere; Ms. Merlo remained mysteriously unavailable and her EA absolutely refused to elaborate.

LexCorp was more cooperative by connecting her to Mr. Luthor, but similarly unproductive. Luthor's people had not gotten back to him with relevant information yet. Though honestly, Maggie doubted that she would actually hear back from him at all.

She called the commanders further up the chain of command to get permission to Normandy a water-front. She informed the Department of Parks and Recreation that the SCU might need to Normandy a water-front if any of the following things had occurred. She also gave a heads up to STAR Labs to inform them that they might need the expertise of a geneticist in the near future. Then she called the _Daily Planet_ to get the whereabouts of Lois Lane.

Ms. Lane was not in this morning and would not be until noon, but that was fine. Maggie knew where to find the reporter. She walked through a brisk shower of ice pellets two blocks down to the Brickhouse Gym. It wasn't specifically the cop gym, but it was only two blocks away from the station so the close proximity had, more or less, transformed it into one.

At least twice a month, Lois could be found there, sometimes Friday, sometimes Saturday. She turned up to trade some boxing blows with the trainers and make sure she was still on form. She got up to enough trouble during the week that she probably didn't need to be at the gym more than twice a month.

Maggie rushed through the doors of the gym, shaking the pellets out of her hair. She hated March weather. It could be nice in the morning and then absolutely miserable by the afternoon. Metropolis never really thawed out from winter until at least late April. Spats of snow would continue for the rest of the month.

The entry way was warm and a bit steamy; the locker rooms weren't too far away. She loosened her coat and made her way into the gym proper, heading for the mats on the left-hand side. She passed large, swole men and women with an array of remarkably large muscles. A few of her fellow officers nodded to her as she passed them. Everywhere was the smell of sweat and oil.

The mats weren't any less aromantic and perhaps slightly more crowded. More people stood around watching. She bypassed the floor mats where fighting form of a more karate persuasion occurred and made her way over to the boxing rings.

Lois was easily spotted, even from behind. She was kitted out in a pair of yoga pants that did nice things to her glutes and a tank-top that was starting to ride up her back, a sheen of sweat visible across the back of her neck. Her black hair had been pulled back in a bouncy little ponytail that had been dragged down by the humid atmosphere and she was wearing the padded gloves that protected the knuckles and supported the wrists. She was standing on the floor beside the ring, observing the action within.

Maggie glanced at the ring and then did a double-take when she actually realized _who_ was in there. It was Ms. Lane's reporting partner in crime, Clark Kent. Hunched over, forearms raised in typical blocking fashion while the trainer lobbed punch after encouragement to keep moving around. His footwork was sloppy, but his form was holding up admireably.

The lieutenant blinked, her mouth dropping open. She had only had the occasion to meet Mr. Kent twice. Broad-shouldered enough though he was, he gave off the air of a beaten nerd. Someone whom bullies had pushed against the lockers for jollies. Not someone who had forearms like _that_. Christ! Just look at the cording down there by his elbows! The tendons in his neck! The bulge of his biceps and triceps! Deltoids! Trapezius! Pectorals! That was the upper body of a dedicated power-lifter!

"How's he doing?" Maggie asked, coming up beside the reporter.

"Mornin' lieutenant." Lois greeted. She shrugged and grinned. "Not too bad for a beginner, I guess." she said. "He got almost mugged the other week."

"He froze, huh." Maggie guessed. That was usually the sort of thing that drove a person to seek out self-defense lessons.

"Well, he can throw a punch that won't break his hand, but he can only do it once. He probably figured it was high time he learned how to do it consecutively." Lois said. "And yeah, he froze up. Marc's just trying to pound some reactionary instincts into him."

"And like usual, Marc's taking it literally." Maggie observed. She tilted her head. "He's bigger than he looks."

"Yeah, they grow 'em big down there in Smallville." Lois agreed, nodding appreciatively. "Old-school farm boy, this one. Spent half his life baling hay and the other half wrestling pigs. I keep telling him that he needs to show it off a little and he might not get almost-mugged again. People usually don't go after the big guys."

"True, but some self-defense lessons don't hurt." Maggie pointed out.

The reporter nodded in agreement. She turned with a wide, almost predatory grin. "So Lieutenant Sawyer, what's the scoop of the day?"

"Oh no, I'm not here to help you." Maggie corrected, fighting the urge to step back from that grin. " _You're_ here to help me."

"Am I?"

"Yes, you are."

From her pocket, she took out the papers she had photocopied at the library yesterday evening.

"I need some fresh info on a man named Roderick Rose." the lieutenant said, handing the papers over. "This is everything we have on him, minus the stuff I legally can't show you."

"Agh, that's all the fun stuff." Lois complained, taking the pages eagerly nonetheless. "What's the four-one-one?"

"Entomologist. Independent research with financial backing from LexCorp and Future World Industries." Maggie explained, feeling a trace of satisfaction when the reporter's eyes lit up. "He's been missing since the previous Tuesday. I can't get through to Merlo and you know what Luthor is like."

"I do." Lois said, her tone sympathetic. "Chances are good you're missing some important details. How far back do you want me to go?"

"What do you consider a full burn?" Maggie wondered.

"Birth-records." the reporter answered, grinning. "But that would take me until next Friday. If we're talking just academic and employment records, I could whip that up over the weekend."

"That would be better. Academic and employment from his college years going forward." Maggie decided. "And any inconsistencies too. I want to know if there was any moment when he sneezed wrong. Luthor was just shady enough."

"Done." Lois agreed, rolling up the papers. "You know, normally it's the other way around; the reporter coming to the cop for the scoop. I'm sure you could dig all of this up without my help."

"I could, but there are two reasons why I'm not. The first is that I'm pressed for time. I don't have anywhere near enough people on the payroll to delegate this to, so I'm outsourcing." the lieutenant said. "The second reason is that Luthor already knows you hate him. So if he spots you digging around in something that is peripherally his business, he won't think much of it. He might pay extra special attention if it's a cop like me."

"Good point." Lois agreed.

It was sound enough logic where Luthor was concerned. Her malcontent for him was well-known, so even if she was spotted doing the equivalent of pawing through his garbage, Luthor would likely just ignore her. Pawing through the proverbial garbage was one of Lois's hobbies.

But a cop of Maggie's status who wasn't getting her hands dirty on the regular would likely attract more attention if she engaged in metaphorical dumpster-diving. It was when people strayed from their established patterns that they got noticed.

"There's another favor you can do me. I'll owe you one." Maggie went on. "I need you to contact Superman for me."

Lois's posture instantly changed from relaxed to tense and defensive. "What for?" she asked, eyes narrowed.

"We need his help. The SCU is the leftovers of the DEO. It's somewhere in our charter that we are permitted to enlist the assistance of superheroes if deemed necessary." Maggie explained, hoping the use of 'superhero' would chase away from that hairy-looking defensiveness in the reporter's eyes. "I have deemed it necessary. We're dealing with some giant mutated insect that may or may not be whatever's left of Roderick Rose. We're calling it the Hellgrammite. Chances are too good it already killed two of my detectives. But to be honest, I still don't have any fucking clue what we're up against here and I want a borderline indestructible man watching our asses when we squad up after this bitch."

She could see the questions forming in the reporter's brain, jumping to the tip of her tongue. Maggie knew exactly what she had done. She had incited the near merciless curiosity by dropping those details. And she knew exactly how Lois would expect the favor to be repaid. First dibs on the full scoop over anyone else, all the gritty details until there was nothing left to say.

"Where and when?" Lois asked.

"Tomorrow night, with any luck. Closer to midnight. We'll be north of the city, near a waterfront. This bastard's partially aquatic." Maggie said, aware of her lack of details. "That's all I've got."

"He's got good hearing. He'll find you."

"So you'll pass the word along?"

"Consider it done." Lois assured her. "You know how I'll ask for the favor to be repayed, right?"

Maggie smirked. "I'll get back to you with a time, Ms. Lane." she said. "Thank you for your cooperation."

Lois's answering smirk was, if anything, sharper and more predatory than Maggie's could have hoped to be. It reminded the lieutenant that, in one way or another, Lois Lane was probably the most powerful woman in Metropolis. Forget all those high-flying business women and celebrities who hooted about their influence over the press. Ms. Lane _was_ the press and with a polite comment, she could have Superman at her side in less than two minutes. That was power and influence those affluent women could only _dream_ of having.

The only thing was, Ms. Lane didn't seem actively aware of this power she had at her fingertips. Or at least she wasn't interested in using that sort of power for evil. And it was the only reason she wasn't really _that_ dangerous.

She was opportunistic, not sadistic.

"Always a pleasure to help the police." Lois said, that smirk never faltering. Anything to poke Luthor.

Feeling satisfied but also oddly like she had just made an accidental deal with the devil, Maggie turned and began to make her way out. This hadn't been her week, but if something could go right today, then tomorrow just might be her day.

* * *

-0-

and i really need to buckle down with the garden too that's another thing


	8. A Saturday Night in Metropolis

I'm back (from outer space) and let's just say taking the summer off was a good idea in retrospect. Not that it was super busy or anything, but raising a three-week old kitten into semi-adulthood is more exhausting than you'd think it would be (especially when you're doing it mostly by yourself). Our little baby is growing up nicely. She gets her big girl shots at her next vet appointment and she'll get spayed probably in October (and get micro-chipped at the same time). Our other two cats are only a year and a half old, so they adjusted pretty quickly to having a kitten in the house. They like to pin her down and groom her.

I meant to have this chapter up last Friday, but it was Labor Day weekend and chapter 38 of Story 4 was non-cooperative and then I kind of forgot about uploading. The good news is Story 4 (a Flash origin story) is getting pretty close to completion (finally). I can say with (some) confidence that there are less than 10 chapters to go (probs lookin at a final chapter count around 45?).

* * *

Chapter Eight: A Saturday Night in Metropolis

On an average Saturday night in Metropolis, there were over one hundred and fifty establishments with liquor licenses that were open late into the wee hours of the night. About forty of them were scattered around Metrodale with red lights out front to indicate that they were of a far more carnal nature. The remaining sum ranged from classy swing clubs with a dress code equal to any black-tie get-together to literally underground dance halls that throbbed and heaved with bass-heavy music, all the way down to the gross dive bars with a steady supply of ex-convict clientele who just wanted to get drunk and start a fight.

Even with the city's inherent white bread nature, there was still no shortage of drunken antics to do on a Saturday night in Metropolis.

And cop though she was, there were nights when Maggie Sawyer wanted to get black-out drunk and wake up to find that she had gotten down and dirty with Lori's bad self, even if their apartment had mysteriously gained a trail of destruction.

It was good for stress relief.

After the week she had just had, such an event would have been welcomed. Maggie would have loved to end the week knocking back hard whiskey until she was cackling incoherently and delighting in her parents' disapproval every time she kissed Lori.

But this wasn't the Saturday night for that. Tonight, she strapped on a bullet-proof tactical vest and broke out the big guns.

Commissioner Henderson had approved their Normandy beach mission with barely a question. The photo of the Hellgrammite had certainly ironed any would-be problems. It was something big, ugly, and growing. Only four people were dead because of it, but two of them were cops and that would be just enough to give the PR boys a headache. Cop killers always got a lot of attention from the media.

Word of this hadn't gotten around yet and Commissioner Henderson wanted it to stay that way until they had a corpse for the front page. He didn't want anyone to know about the problem until **after** it was handled and Maggie was offering to do it right away.

How could he deny her?

So Saturday night saw the SCU gearing up to take down a mutated insect instead of partying down like the rest of Metropolis. They moaned a little about missing the Saint Paddy's Day specials and the green beer, but only a little. There was a greater job to be done.

Officer Mills, their only SWAT member and the heavy weaponry expert was giving a brief tutorial on the basic operation of the big guns they had signed out of the armory. These were not the SIG Sauers they were used to or even the riot-level Remington 870s or the Beretta TX4s that got aired when the going was tough. No, this was military-grade. The reliable old M-16s (the A1 variant). These were the _big guns_ , the ones that only saw the light of day when the shit was thick enough to walk on. Ones that weighed the better part of eight pounds fully loaded. Hard-core and heavy-duty with a kick-back worthy of any mule.

Commissioner Henderson was letting them pull out all the stops.

Sergeant Escudero was staying behind, as she always did, to monitor the frequencies and keep an eye on other things. She was their dispatcher and their mama bird in the nest. Neither Lyle nor Mitch had the training necessary for this sort of operation _-_ \- Lyle still looked like microwaved death, in any case. And Captain Jase...

"Captain." Maggie started, a touch disapprovingly. "What are you doing?"

Decked out in tactical gear, Captain Jase hefted the semi-automatic rifle up against his shoulder with practised ease. "I'm coming with you, Lieutenant, and I don't want to hear an argument against it."

"Captain, with all respect, you're not exactly a spry jackrabbit anymore." Maggie pointed out gently. The captain was pushing the high side of fifty-eight, his brown hair heavily threaded with silver. He still met the physical fitness requirements every year, but Maggie knew that the man was passed through due in large part to his seniority.

"And Detective Gordon is six months out from an eight-year smoking habit. I would bet you his lungs are still in worse shape than mine, but no one is telling him to sit down." Captain Jase said stubbornly, peering down the rifle's sight-lines. "No argument means no argument. I'm coming with you. You got me?"

Maggie inhaled to protest, but the potential words died somewhere between her brain and her mouth. Captain Jase outranked her and while he wasn't one to pull rank, there was nothing stopping him from doing so if he felt inclined. She could argue his advancing age and the lack of time he had spent in the field all she liked, but she couldn't actually stop him from heading out there with them. Doing so would involve going above his head to the nearest colonel and they didn't have time for that.

"Aye-aye, _mon capitan_." Maggie said, bouncing a stiff salute off her forehead. She even clicked her heels together. Captain Jase favored her with a look of fond exasperation and shook his head. The liuetenant smirked a little and then turned to address her team.

"We have our marching orders, folks!" she shouted at them. "Squad up and roll out!"

There was a response she could only describe as manly grunting, even from the women. That was definitely a pronounced _swagger_ in their strides. Maybe it was the guns and the tactical vests combined with what they were setting out do to that was making them feel a little... well, _bad-ass_. Even Maggie had to admit that she felt this weird sense of power when she picked up the big fucking gun. It was heavy and solid in her hands, in a reassuring way.

They marched outside in an irregular line, adjusting the vests and the radios. Most certainly nervous gestures than anything really being in need of adjustment. The parking lot was nearly empty of vehicles (two squad vans had been set aside for the SCU) when they arrived and covered in about half an inch of snow. With it being Saint Patrick's Day, the beat cops were out in force to discourage anyone from driving around drunk, especially in this weather. The snow was coming down lightly, but it was steady and it was sticking. It was a quarter past eleven, pretty much the peak hour for the buzzed and tipsy to switch venues.

Maggie eyed the spiraling flakes. "Suppose it'll stop?" she wondered to Turpin.

"With our luck, it'll get worse." the detective replied. He slapped a companionable hand on her shoulder. "We'll be fine, Mags. This group is tough. We made it through that bomb clusterfuck last year, didn't we?"

"Last year we weren't trying to avenge two of our own." Maggie pointed out.

And that was part of what she was worried about. By circumstance, the SCU had become close-knit. They were a small group. There wasn't room for grudges against team-mates, meaning they had had to become friends very quickly. Marzan and Pittarese were likeable, genuine folk. It wasn't just the SCU who missed them, but people in other departments who had wishes for their safe return.

It was too easy to spin this hunt about revenge, rather than justice.

Maggie stopped abruptly, bringing the column behind her to an equally abrupt halt. She turned sharply and looked down the line, and gestured for them to gather around.

"All right, listen up! C'mon, bring it up here. Last minute notes." she said, waiting for them to gather in a half-circle around her. "The Hellgrammite is fast, by all reports. Tonight's bullets of choice are tungsten carbide armor-busters, but we also don't know how durable this asshole is, so aim carefully. Eyes, mouth, joints. I'm sure there's a weak spot on it somewhere. Its size suggests that it is also fairly strong, considering that Pittarese weighs... what, just about two hundred pounds?"

There was a collective shrug and Sergeant Kesel waved her hand in a 'so-so' gesture.

"Regardless, he's not a small man. Neither is Marzan. That says something for the Hellgrammite. When we find it, you all keep your eyes on this thing. Don't let it out of your sight for a second." Maggie ordered, getting fervent nods in return. "Unfortunately, we have no further intel on what the Hellgrammite could be capable of. For all we know, it spits acid and shits lava. So if you see it doing something weird, get the hell out of there. I don't want anyone being a hero."

Jim raised a hand. "Lieutenant, I don't mean to question here, but if we don't actually know what the Hellgrammite is capable of, why are we going after it now?"

"Because the commissioner wants it brought down before it eats enough people to make the news." Maggie explained. "We're in two groups tonight. Mills, Trevor, Harper, and the captain, you're with me. The rest of you are with Turpin. Do not split up for any reason unless it is the most dire of absolute emergencies. Got it?"

"Yes ma'am." Turpin said, speaking for the group.

"Lieutenant," Officer Mills raised his hand next. "What about Superman?"

"What about him?"

"Well, you wanted him to accompany us, right?"

"It doesn't matter if he shows up or not. We have to get this done." Maggie said, shrugging. It would make her feel better to have the superhero watching their six, but they would do this without him just the same. Maggie didn't want her people to get into the habit of relying on Superman. They had to be able to fend for themselves.

She noticed by the last word that nine sets of eyes had shifted upwards towards the roof of the building, eight expressions taking on varying states of awe while Detective Jones wore his usual serene expression. Instead, he looked right at the lieutenant and smiled very slightly.

Superman.

He was here.

Maggie looked up over her shoulder and wasn't too proud to admit that her jaw dropped too.

He had only been around for three going on four months now, so those expressions of shock and awe were still understandable. Metropolis's new superhero was a sight to behold. Sleek black hair and the most incredibly blue eyes that Maggie had never seen before. He was visually impressive, a portrait of virile masculinity and a dream of perfectly-formed musculature. Broad shoulders, arms as thick as Maggie's neck, the scarlet cape, and a suit that straddled a line between very flattering and needlessly tight. It curved around every line of muscle with the loving cling of spandex.

But it wasn't just the sheer physicalness of him. It was something else, like an aura. Even Ms. Lane had struggled to put down the right words to describe it _-_ \- Maggie had read enough of the reporter's articles to recognize when she had struggled. Lois had managed words like "inspiring" and "striking", but even that had failed to encompass the sheer _-_ \- _whatever it was_ that seemed to fall over them like a ray of light. Something that you only really became aware of when you were standing in his presence.

Across his broad chest was the bright gold stylized S set into the pentagonal shield.

Superman touched down lightly, with the gingerness of someone who was in the habit of testing a surface before they trusted their weight to it. He settled on to the ground like he was expecting it to give out, his arms out to counterbalance if necessary.

Someone wolf-whistled, but with her back turned, Maggie didn't know who. All the same, way to be professional.

"Lieutenant Sawyer." Superman started politely. "I understand you asked for my assistance."

Maggie needed a second or two to recover from her own awe, because was there _anything_ about this man that he did normally? Even his voice was resonant and deep, a lovely baritone hum that lacked any distinct regional accent. He didn't sound like he was from Metropolis, but he also didn't sound like he was from anywhere else.

"Yes, I did." the lieutenant said, after a second's of hesitation. "Did Ms. Lane tell you what we're doing tonight or do I need to take a moment and catch you up on the situation?"

"The Hellgrammite. Large mutated insect, possibly Mr. Roderick Rose and responsible for the disappearances of Detectives Greg Pittarese and Leslie Marzan. You're going to search the waterfronts for it." Superman said. He smiled. It was toothpaste white and charming. "Miss Lane was thorough with the facts."

"She always is." Maggie commented softly.

"I searched the waterfronts already." Superman went on, albeit a touch hesitantly. "Since you weren't sure where to find it, I thought it would be faster to make a sweep myself. I didn't spot it directly, but I saw its tracks up by the Byrnes Reservoir. Between the boat launches and the beach. I also took the liberty of backing-tracking through about twenty-four hours worth of satellite imagery. It arrived at the reservoir right around six this morning and went into the water. From what I can tell, it hasn't come out since."

He looked at her like a child expecting a scolding, as though he had done something without permission. Maggie realized that he was concerned about stepping on the toes of law enforcement. Superman hadn't been around long enough for him and the police to work out exactly where the line lay and he didn't want to go so far that he actually broke the law.

 _Well, well, well..._ Was Maggie's only really coherent thought. She wasn't sure how it should have finished, but there was a sense of satisfaction and vague approval.

Superman had mostly proved himself to the public as a decent, genuine person and not totally full of himself. Keenly aware of how the wildly paranoid and pessimistic half of the public perceived him. Not the _only_ reason he hadn't moved so boldly, but certainly a great contributing factor. He was being careful, playing it safe, so he didn't become as reviled and hated as good ol' Zoom in Central City.

Maggie still had her concerns, but from the way things looked at this angle, Superman might just become the kind of person _-_ \- the kind of hero she could learn to work with.

"Good work." Maggie said, nodding. "Just remember. The Hellgrammite is ours, so all I want you to do is make sure we don't get killed. I've already lost two people to this bastard already and if I can prevent a third..."

"I understand." Superman nodded. Some of the tension in his shoulders disappeared.

"Turpin, get him a radio. The rest of you, saddle up!" the lieutenant instructed.

It was Colletta who went "Whoo-hoo!" and pumped her fist in the air, then sprinted the remaining distance to the vans like she didn't have a big-ass gun hanging off her shoulders. And where the pluck and the grit went, the reckless overconfidence usually followed.

"All right!" Officer Mills bellowed. "Let's nail this asshole's head to the wall! Show 'im why he messed with the wrong SCU!"

That was all the firing up the SCU needed. With a responding cheer, they split into their assigned groups and piled into the vans. Superman took to the skies again. Maggie watched him take off through the side-mirror - he wasn't exactly majestic or graceful about it. He did something like a silly little bunny hop and paused in the air for a second like he expected to get dropped before he drew himself up and took off properly. _Then_ he was majestic and graceful, at home in the sky just the same as any songbird.

With James at the wheel of the leading van, they headed out of the parking lot and onto the streets. Maggie until they were a few blocks away from the station before she flicked on her radio.

"Sawblade to all points, radio check." she announced into the speaker.

" _Mama Bird reporting in. Signal good, Sawblade._ " Sergeant Escudero replied from the radio set back in the office. " _Roads are clear from here to the river._ "

" _Terrible Turtle reporting in_." Turpin chimed from the other van.

And on down the roster they went until every callsign had been given. Maggie wasn't sure who had started the whole thing (it may have indeed been her), but the idea had stuck. It was now tradition to give the rookie a callsign as quickly as possible and whoever did so first got a gift-card (they still hadn't managed to assign one to Steve; he was still going by Agent Stoolie Canary and it seemed that that one just might stick).

"Superman, your radio?" the lieutenant prompted, when the dead air persisted for a few seconds too long.

" _Oh! Yes, it's working._ " the superhero replied.

The trip out of the city was mostly uneventful. Sergeant Escudero's job would have been to guide them around any traffic snarls that they couldn't siren their way through. But their fellow cops were keeping the traffic moving along by keeping the would-be drunk drivers off the road. A few late-night revelers who were still displaying ample sobriety would stop in their tracks and point excitedly at the sky and some whipped out their phones on the spot. Maggie didn't know how low Superman was flying, but he was obviously low enough that he was easily spotted.

Some more pictures and video to add to the online collection, then. Superman had been trending locally for weeks.

They made good time to the Howard Bridge and crossed it into Racine. The number of Saint Patrick's Day revelers dropped to almost nothing, or at least they didn't appear on the streets the SCU took northwards.

The Byrnes Reservoir was only three miles north of city limits. It was a popular recreational spot for swimming, boating, fishing, and other popular water-related summer activities. A campground and hiking trails had been set up alongside the shoreline, through at least two miles of undeveloped woods. It was a primo spot for a cheap vacation away from it all.

Fortunately, everything but the hiking trails were still closed for the season.

The trip itself was not quiet. In order to keep themselves from succumbing to nerves and tension, the SCU had broken into song. They were limited to the songs that everyone knew the words to, so it was mostly Christmas music, but that didn't stop them from being loud, boisterous, and completely out of tune.

It wasn't until they reached the main entrance to the park that Maggie actually shushed them. She probably should have left them singing, though, for passing through the unlit roadways under the trees in silence was rather eerie. Empty camping slots, bare trees, and snow spiraling out of the sky in thicker, clumpier flakes than before.

 _Sure picked a hell of a night to go hunting._ Maggie thought, trying to ignore the feeling of trepidation growing in her gut.

That feeling had grown a little bigger and harder by the time they arrived at the parking lot for the beach until it sat heavy in her gut like a stone, but she gamely ignored it. She clicked her radio.

"Turtle, take your squad down to the boat launch." she instructed. "We'll scour the beach and meet in the middle. Give a holler when you're ready to go."

" _Copy. And that's_ _ **Terrible**_ _Turtle, Lieutenant._ "

Maggie rolled her eyes, but smiled all the same.

The second van peeled off from behind them, turning back the way they had come to head down the road.

"Park us on the far side, Harper." Maggie added, gesturing.

The water of the Byrnes Reservoir was still, black, and not at all spooky. Not in the slightest. It just so happened that there was a carnivorous twelve foot long mutated insect somewhere underneath the surface of the water.

Once the van was parked, the squad of five filed out. Officer Mills had a grin on his face, but he looked jittery and nervous, and his hands white-knuckled the grips of the semi-automatic. Captain Jase's hands shook just a little and Steve's head was swiveling around as if he fully expected the Hellgrammite to drop out of the sky. If Maggie had to pick a person who didn't look like they were going to fly out of their shoes from nerves, it was James. Though his left hand did occasionally clench like he was trying to grasp something that wasn't there, he stood with the utmost calm. Not a flicker of anything showed on his face.

It was strange because to Maggie, she would have thought that Steve would have been the most calm. He was the one with the prior experience at dealing with the weird shit of the world. Being a former beat cop in the Suicide Slums didn't exactly prepare one for the likes of humans mutated into insects.

But no, it was Steve who tapped his heel restlessly and James who just stood there looking for all the world like he was waiting in line at the bank.

The distant snap and rustle of fabric assured that Superman was still in the air above them, turning in an ever widening circle. After what must have been five minutes (Maggie wasn't counting), her radio finally buzzed.

" _Squad two's in position._ " Turpin announced, his voice thin and tinny through the radio. " _Ready to go whenever, Sawblade._ "

"Roger that. Eyes and ears sharp, people." Maggie advised. "The Hellgrammite's not exactly dumb. Once it figures out we're here, it's going to guess real quick what we're up to. Superman?"

" _Yes_?"

"You're probably going to see or hear it sooner than us, so give a shout if it tries to out-flank us."

" _Yes ma'am_."

They set off across the sand and the gathering snow in a loose ring. Maggie took point while Captain Jase and Officer Mills faced outwards towards the water and the woods, respectively, crab-stepping along. Steve and James brought up the rear, carefully walking backwards. The formation ensured that they had eyes facing in all directions, even though it was a little awkward. They didn't use flashlights. It had been decided through collective agreement that using flashlights would just give them away and light them up like a dinner menu. The radioes stayed silent as well. There was nothing to say.

There was barely a sound aside from their steps, the snow and the sand crunching softly under their boots. The water lapped near silently at the shoreline. But there was no scurrying of nocturnal woodland creatures or the hoot of the owls that lived nearby.

Maybe they all been scared off.

Humans really did have excellent night-vision, with those big pupils to let in the maximum amount of light. It was just that not many people spent enough time away from the cities and other forms of well-lit civilization to really notice just how well they could see in the dark. The waterfront wasn't lit at all and Metropolis was just a glow of light pollution three miles away, but Maggie still saw the glint of a bottlecap half-buried in the sand. She wondered how much better Superman's night vision was. Something about enhanced senses, if she remembered those first few interviews correctly.

The sand eventually gave way to short grass and the structures of the play area appeared out of the darkness. Maggie hadn't imagined before that a swing set could seem so ominous but the creak-creak of the swings definitely twinged off her nerves more than it should have. The swinging gate rocked back and forth in the breeze.

Past the play area was the picnic area, which jutted out over the water a little for that scenic experience. It was roughly the halfway point between the beach and the boat launches. They had crossed a little under a quarter of a mile of shoreline carefully and methodically, looking for anything that was even remotely unusual.

And there was nothing to be seen. Any tracks the Hellgrammite had made had since been covered over by the snow. Quite the opposite, it didn't seem like it had ever been here at all.

It hadn't shown any particular sleep-wake pattern either, instead seeming to be awake at any given time. Knowing its circadian rhythm would have made the whole job of hunting it easier, but that would have required weeks of observation just to be sure and that was weeks it would have to continue eating the pets and people of Metropolis. And in that time, it likely would have gotten bigger and its appetite more ferocious, and it might have even pupated just as Captain Jase had implied.

It might have been irresponsible to go after the bastard so soon when they were hardly prepared to deal with it, but it would have just been more irresponsible to let it roam at will while knowing there was something they could do about it.

They passed from the woodchips of the play area to the concrete platform of the picnic quay. Snow coated the bench tables, at least an inch thick. Maggie spotted five dark forms approaching from the opposite side.

"Turpin?" she called out softly.

"Yeah." The detective's gruff voice answered her. "No luck, huh. Must be the wrong time of night. Told you we should have done more research."

"There wasn't time to wait." Maggie reminded him, wondering how many times she would say a line like that. "Was there anything strange from your end? We had nothing."

"Like a liesurely summertime stroll." Turpin grumbled.

Through the darkness, the lieutenant saw him raise a hand and wave it around in a manner she presumed was sarcastic. Behind him, his team was lowering their rifles though not quite standing down. Behind her, her team was doing the same, still casting their eyes about warily just in case.

"Now what?" Officer Mills asked from Maggie's right, as the teams converged on each other.

"Time to see if we missed something." the lieutenant said, turning the volume on her radio back up. She adjusted the microphone. "Superman, do you copy?"

There was a second of hesitation, then: " _Yes._ " His voice came through everyone's radioes, albeit at lower volumes.

"We've been from one end of this beach to another and there isn't anything here." Maggie said. "Were you sure about this location?"

" _Um... Honest answer, no. But it was the only one that fit the profile of what you were looking for._ " Superman told her. " _In any case, you might want to come down trail four._ "

"What?"

The lieutenant's head wasn't the only one to snap up and examine the sky closely. There was no moving man-shape against the clouds, no snap of not-fabric cape, and frankly, no sign that the superhero was still above their heads.

" _Trail four._ " Superman said." _Turn ninety degrees to the right and walk towards the tree line. The trail marker is about thirty feet away. Trust me, lieutenant. There is something here all of you will want to see._ "

The radio hissed dead air before Maggie could think about reprimanding him for not staying on their six as ordered, but she also had to bite her tongue. Heroes occupied a blurry place between civilian law and enforcement, technically neither one nor the other and so the established rules didn't apply. If there had ever been a section in the handbooks about working with heroes, it had been excised from the text.

She glanced over to Captain Jase questioningly.

"Go." he said, inclining his head. He hefted the M-16 so it was resting more comfortably in his arms. "I'll stay here. Keep an eye on things. Let you know if the ugliness shows its face."

Though she was reluctant to leave the captain by himself, Maggie knew an order when she heard one. She murmured a "Let's go" to the teams and turned on a flashlight before making her way towards the tree line. Turpin was the first to follow her, falling in at her side and swapping his M-16 for the flashlight. Captain Jase made a shooing motion, dismissing the rest of the team.

The trail marker was set a little ways into the trees, wrapped in reflective tape. It wasn't a wide trail, and it sloped downhill at angle just steep enough that the footing was a concern in this snow. They had to walk a somewhat staggered two abreast, Maggie and Turpin plowing the way while the Jameses brought up the rear. Between the trees and the snowfall, all the sound seemed muffled and the flashlights didn't seem to reach very far into the darkness.

"Snow's getting thicker." Turpin commented softly, brushing some clumpy flakes from his hair. He hitched up the collar of his coat so they were less likely to go down the back of his neck.

"Now that I think about it, the weather must have driven the Hellgrammite to ground." Maggie reasoned. "I'll guess we'll have to come back tomorrow night. Snow's not going to melt by evening, so we'll have tracks to follow at least."

"Still want Superman helping us?" Turpin wondered. Personally, he had no problems with the idea and far fewer misgivings than his lieutenant. Things could have been far worse last year without Superman's assistance.

Maggie didn't reply, except to breathe out rather loudly through her nose. To Turpin, this was answer enough. Still split and torn about the idea of Superman in general. So far, nothing had made her sway one direction or the other.

"I don't think we should have left Captain Jase alone back there, Lieutenant." Sergeant Kesel spoke up, from the middle of the group. "One of us should have stayed behind with him."

"He'll be fine." Maggie replied. It was automatic. He would be fine. He had been on this job for far longer than anyone here. What was Captain Jase supposed to be other than 'fine'?

"Superman." she spoke into her radio. "Where are you?"

" _Just about a quarter mile in._ "

"What were you doing out there when you were supposed to be watching our backs?"

" _I saw something that needed a closer look._ " Then, hesitantly, Superman added: " _Sorry, I suppose I should have said something._ "

"We'll discuss it later." Maggie shrugged. She could forgive and forget rookie mistakes; everyone made them.

A "quarter of a mile in" wasn't in a straight line, as it turned out. The trail twisted and turned through the trees, taking them past frozen little streams, towering sycamores, and enormous boulders that looked like they had been artfully placed. It would have been a nice scenic walk if it hadn't been the middle of the night.

All in all, it took some five to ten minutes to reach their destination. It was at a stand of those boulders that they finally found Superman, standing off the trail, a splash of vibrant color in an otherwise pitch-dark environment. He didn't say anything and didn't give them the chance to ask what he had found. He just pointed amid the rocks with a grim sort of expression on his handsome face, and recrossed his arms. They all bunched around for a look.

Six flashlight beams landed on two strange white things that appeared glued to the boulders. At first, Maggie thought it was some strange build-up of snow and ice, but then realized that the white things were more of a gray-ish tan with a woven texture and were split open down the middle like cicada shells.

"Those are cocoons." Steve realized first.

"They _were_ cocoons." Colletta corrected.

"Holy shit, those are cocoons." Jim murmured in shock and horror.

The detective's horrified whisper was just one in a litany of curses that spilled out in three separate languages because _oh god_ these cocoons were easily seven feet long and there were _two_ of them. Two more of these Hellgrammites running around the outskirts of Metropolis. Two more mouths that needed feeding.

If Papa Hellgrammite had a hearty appetite, Maggie didn't want to imagine how much two babies had to eat.

Oh god, Roderick Rose had turned just two weeks ago and he was already reproducing. Two weeks and two babies. There could be two more by the end of the week. She was going to have to ask Captain Jase if dobson flies had any hermaphroditic qualities.

"Those _-_ -" Officer Mills started, his voice catching and he had to clear this throat. "Those have been there for a while."

Maggie looked around at him sharply. "How long is a while?"

Officer Mills shrugged. "A week, I think?" He said it cringingly, like he would be reprimanded for not being certain.

"More or less." Superman said, nodding. "The shells are starting to get brittle. They'll decompose on their own in another week or two."

"Shit, maybe that means it the one from the steelworks was the baby and the one at the fort was the daddy." Steve commented, rubbing a hand over his chin thoughtfully. "I thought one was bad enough, but we've got _three_?"

"This is going to take more than one night." Jim said quietly.

"Then we'd better get to work fast before the two kids reach puberty themselves." Maggie declared, turning to face her team. "We'll come back out here tomorrow night with a properly-sized task force _-_ -"

"Actually, Lieutenant, that's not all I found." Superman interrupted, stepping forward up to her side.

He extended the hand that he had kept tucked against his chest, revealing two brass badges _-_ \- somehow still gleaming, bright and bronze under the beam of every flashlight _-_ \- emblazoned with service numbers, the city seal, and the names of Maggie's missing detectives.

Her breath snagged in her throat, her chest hitching. Since Monday, she had told herself that they would find Marzan and Pittarese, alive and well enough to recover. She had steadfastly ignored the nagging thought at the back of her mind that they wouldn't find the two detectives. It was a possible reality that she had pushed aside because it was _only_ possible.

But time had made it real. Seeing the badges, somehow, clinched it, closed it.

Marzan and Pittarese were gone.

She took the badges from Superman's hand and turned around as if presenting them to the rest of the SCU. There were no gasps of shock or sputters of confusion. Just like she had, they knew without having to ask.

But she had to ask anyways.

"You didn't see anyone?" she asked Superman.

The alien shook his head. "They're long gone, I'm sorry. I can only hear ten heartbeats, including my own so _-_ -" He broke off and his face drained to pale faster than anything Maggie had seen before.

"That should be eleven." he whispered in terror.

Realization and a flush of adrenaline hit Maggie like something falling out of place. There was eleven of them altogether out here and there was only one reason that one would suddenly vanish _-_ -

"The captain!"

Maggie wheeled about so sharply that her heels kicked up snow and she plowed through her team without another word. She didn't secure the M-16; it slid off her shoulder and she let it hit the ground. Superman blasted into the air with the same urgency, so fast he jostled snow from every tree branch on the way up.

"Maggie! Wait!" Turpin called after, belatedly.

But there could be no _waiting_. There was a quarter of a mile of twisting trail and unsure footing to race over back to the water front. It could take just as long to run back as it had to walk here in the first place.

 _Superman will get there first._ Maggie told herself. _Captain Jase will be fine._

She was distantly aware of the rest of the team setting out as well, but she had gotten so far ahead of them already that she barely noticed. Snow fell around in her crazy jagged spirals, the thick flakes disintegrating against her cheeks. It was a miracle she didn't slip and slide right off the trail, though nearly dropping the flashlight was bad enough.

 _Captain Jase will be fine_.

It didn't take her long to leave the team behind. Then it was silence. Just her scrambling up the snow-covered trail, around the trees _-_ \- some of which she barely avoided colliding with. Her breath left her in harsh pants, the cold air rasping at the back of her throat.

They shouldn't have left him alone. Someone should have stayed behind with him. Or he shouldn't have come with them to begin with. Captain Jase was capable, but he was _old_. His reflexes weren't what they used to be. His senses weren't what they used to. He squinted a lot more now than he did even three years ago. The reading glasses came out more often.

Don't split up. Hadn't that been the one hard rule she'd laid down for the evening? Don't split up and they had anyways and it had taken just a second.

 _Captain Jase is fine._

It seemed to take forever for the trail-head to come back into sight, for the dark expanse of the lake to show on the near horizon. Her breath steaming and nervous sweat under her collar, Maggie barreled up the slope and back into the picnic quay. For a wild second, she couldn't even comprehend the sight in front of her. There was no grin from Captain Jase, no assurance that he was all right and that she had rushed up here for nothing. Just Superman, bent over at the waist with his hands on his knees and a rather tell-tale puddle of foul smell in the snow under him. Even from where she stood, Maggie could see that his face was pale. His breathing was slow and measured, like he was marshalling himself against throwing up. Again.

"Superman?" Maggie started. "Where's the Hellgrammite?"

"Gone." Superman replied in a slightly choked voice. He didn't raise his head. "I saw it slide back in the water just as I got here. It's fast."

There was another tone in his voice, one that stuck out more than the nausea. It sounded a little too much like shame. Like he wasn't raising his head because he wasn't sure what he would see if he met her eyes.

"And Captain Jase?"

"Over there." He waved in the general direction of the water. "Just don't look too closely."

The hot flush of adrenaline turned cold.

 _No._

Honestly, the smell coming from that puddle should have told Maggie everything from the second she'd arrived. Superman was an alien, but he clearly still had a gag reflex and reacted to visually disturbing sights with a familiar, predictable response.

Maggie's legs felt like dead weight and her heart was pounding and some little voice in the back of her brain warned her not to look, but there was a terrible curiosity pushing her forward. It didn't matter what Superman said, or what she could extrapolate from the scene itself. She _needed_ to see for herself.

She walked forward, feeling like she was on unsteady ground. Not too far from the railing was a very human form that seemed to take up more space than the average human should. The surrounding snow was stained dark. Maggie didn't need to raise the flashlight to see what the color was, but she did anyways and her heart leapt into her throat.

Superman had been too late and Captain Jase was _-_ -

It wasn't that there was very little left of the captain. Quite the opposite, really. All the pieces were there. They just happened to be scattered in a trail ten feet from his body all the way to the waterfront, as though he had heaved himself onto the quay and crawled until his heart stopped.

The Hellgrammite had cut his belly open.

Blood loss, probably. Cut deep enough into the torso and you'd slice right through the thoracic aorta and the accompanying vein. That was one of those things were recovery was a very slim chance. The thoracic aorta took blood from the heart all the way down the legs.

It must have been quick.

Maggie wasn't sure how long she stood there staring at a cooling corpse, the snow falling around her like ash and coating everything in a gray pall, but she became aware of a flurry of shouting, vile swearing, and gagging that heralded the arrival of the rest of the SCU. Fleetingly, she thought that she should turn them around and make sure that they didn't look, but if she couldn't take her eyes off it, how could she expect them to?

Tupin moved in front of her. She blinked.

"Maggie," he started, his hands lightly touching her shoulders. "Maggie, let's go."

She didn't move.

"C'mon, Mags." Turpin nudged her, trying to get her moving. "C'mon, someone has to call this in. We gotta let Lupe know. This is no time to start freezing up. We've got to take care of our dead."

Maggie blinked again. This time, the world seemed to come back to her. Snow in her hair. Someone was shouting swears, but she couldn't tell who. Their voice blended in with another person's until she could hardly tell the words apart. Turpin stood in front of her, his wild eyebrows collecting snow, his hands steady and warm on her shoulders.

And Captain Jase...

"Dan..." Maggie's voice came out slightly hoarse. Her hand found his arm. "Dan, it killed the captain."

"I know."

"We've gotta get this thing."

"I know, but not right now. It's not the time anymore. Window of opportunity's gone for now." Turpin said, tugging her a few steps to the left. "We need to call this in, Maggie, and then we mourn, and then we can come back with a plan."

' _What plan'_ Maggie wanted to ask, but the words died soundless in her throat. What plan could they possibly come up to deal with the Hellgrammite with if even Superman hadn't been able to get his hands on it? They were just normal human beings, so what were they supposed to do if the one superhero they had wasn't able to do anything?

What kind of plan were they supposed to make?

Captain Jase was dead.

And just like the last time, Maggie was certain that it was her fault.


	9. White Whales

I thought about the every-other-week update schedule, but I think I just want to crack this out. There are only seven chapters (and an epilogue) left. No sense in drawing it out.

Flash story is still coming along. I think chapter 40 is threatening to undergo mitosis, but all things considered, 45 chapters is a good estimate for the final count.

* * *

Chapter Nine: White Whales

Tuesday was supposed to be the warmest day of the week, but Jim could hardly tell the difference between today and yesterday. Yesterday had been a chilly thirty-five degrees with a ten-degree windchill and the last of the weekend snow just barely melting off. Today, it was much closer to forty-five, but it was the cold northerly winds swept in off the lake, negating any effect the bright sun had. The city streets acted like wind tunnels, funneling the gusts down the avenues at such speeds that it whipped flags and banners and power lines so hard he was half-afraid they would come loose.

 _Blasted Michigan weather, I should have stayed in Chicago._ He thought, wrapping his coat a little more snugly. Chicago still might be chilly too, but it would be showing more prominent signs of spring by now.

The train had brought him a few blocks away from his destination, but it was still a few blocks walking headlong into the Canadian breezes. He was on the upper side of Midtown near the Howard Bridge, where the island started to curve to meet with the Suicide Slums.

He was only a few streets away from the Slums themselves, so the neighborhood was visibly part of a lower-income bracket. If Jim had to apply any kind of label to a neighborhood like this one, he might say 'ghetto'. 'Ill repute' was another label he might apply. It was right on that edge where it was still respectable by day, but it wasn't safe to be out very late after sundown. The winter pot-holes were from last year and the sidewalks were more than just chipped. Each of the terraced houses had a slab of concrete for a front yard and it was fenced in by six-foot iron fences. The bottom-floor windows were barred over, which meant that rocks and baseball bats had been regularly applied to those windows.

If Mayor Kovac's restoration plan went through to completion and brought the Slums back to respectability, then this was one of the neighborhoods that would likely benefit as a side-effect.

 _That_ , however, was still at least five years away. Bulldozing was to begin next month in the West River, but the planning committee didn't anticipate getting to the Slums or Metrodale for another three years, at minimum.

Since he had switched departments, he hadn't had much of a reason to visit this side of town. But today, he had finally gotten the chance to follow up on the missing Metrodale kids. Hopefully, he would be able to close this case and punt it down to Missing Persons. Most of his contacts hadn't panned out. When he had done his rounds the previous Friday, it seemed that most his snitches had been surprised to learn of it. They had shaken their heads and apologized for not having any information. They were also not about to go poking around. Quiet operations like that one stayed quiet because people were shot for talking. By the end of the weekend, only one of Jim's contacts had been brave enough to snoop a little. The detective was on his way to meet with him now.

If he could wrap this up on a positive note, then at least he would have good news to give to the lieutenant.

Finally, Jim turned a corner and got his back to the wind. He left the rows of houses behind and entered the section of the neighborhood that passed for commercial. Corner bodegas and antique stores, second-hand clothing stores and used book shops, and a slew of ethnic restaurants. One of which was some of the best Mexican food that Jim had ever sampled. The store-front was a little dusty, but the A-plus from the health inspector was displayed prominently on their door.

The bell tinkled as Jim let himself in. Operatic music was the first thing to greet him, the Spanish syllables so elongated and stylized that he could barely understand what was being sung. The warm air smelled like salsa, tortilla chips, and beans. Jim glanced around the brightly-colored interior, from the sparkling tiled floor to the canary-yellow bench tables. The lunch rush hadn't hit yet, so it was easy to spot the man he had arranged to meet.

But he didn't go sit down right away. He went up to the counter and placed an order for a chicken-and-bean burrito, and a side of chips and gauc. "Some of the best Mexican food he had ever had" meant that he wasn't going to come here and **not** eat anything. It was only after he had collected his food, condiments, and drink that he finally went to sit down at a booth table that had a direct sight-line to the door.

"Hello, Wilbur." he said smoothly.

J. Wilbur Wolfingham (first name unknown in spite of best efforts) looked up and grinned from the other side of the table. He had a head like a cueball and the survival instincts of a rat. He was a scam artist in the same way an office manager was an electrical engineer. He ran the petty kind of sleight-of-hand tricks that bilked tourists out of five dollars and got picked by the police at least once a month. He wore a cheap suit, a cheap tie, and looked as authentic as a three dollar bill. He was scum, but he ran with the snitches and was usually good for a few dollops of information.

"Gordon, I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me." Wolfingham said. He too had settled in for lunch, with one of the rice and bean dishes (half demolished), some imported Mexican beer, and chips with salsa.

"Unlucky for you. It's just been a long weekend." Jim said. He tried to keep the weariness out of his voice, as to not display any sort of weakness in front of the talentless conman. It didn't quite work; the tired quaver was audible.

Wolfingham nodded with a sympathetic face. Undoubtedly, he had heard that the SCU had lost three of its members. The deaths of cops were hard to keep out of the media, but the Met P.D. had stomped on the details, keeping them out of publication.

Jim hadn't gotten the chance to know Detectives Marzan and Pittarese very well, nor Captain Jase, but it was hard to lose comrades. The SCU was appropriately crushed. Unofficially, they were off the clock until after the funerals, but there was still a lot to be done.

"My condolences." Wolfingham said, however insincerely. He didn't care about three less cops on the force, except in the sense that it was three less cops to deal with. He scooped up a glob of salsa onto a chip and moaned in appreciation when he bit in. "This is some damn good salsa, Gordon."

"Greenhouse on the second floor. They grow most of their own veggies." Jim replied, helping himself to some gaucomole.

"I gotta come back here some time without you breathin' down my neck. How'd you find the place?" the scam artist wondered. "I mean, this is some damn good salsa. Actually, lemme _-_ -"

He leaned over with a chip to dab at Jim's guac bowl.

"Hey, get your own!" The detective flapped a hand at the thieving chip, but Wolfingham was already pulling away with a little glob of green stuff. The scam artist stuff the chip and gauc into his mouth and let out another appreciative moan.

"Mmm, greenhouse on the second floor means these avocados ain't more than five minutes from plucked to mashed." he declared through the mouthful. "Gotta hand it to you cops. You guys find all the good places. I'm impressed. Good work."

Jim made a face and moved his gauc bowl out of reach. He had come here for information, not to get his lunch plucked away by a thief.

"Over the phone, you said you had something for me." he said.

"I might." Wolfingham narrowed his eyes, then leaned back in the seat and crossed his arms. "But what's in it for me?"

"I don't book you for that little car boot gimmick you were pulling last month." Jim replied. He smiled. "The owners may not have seen you, but the traffic cameras sure did."

It was Wolfingham's most recent activity and not really a scam, not in the known sense of the word. He had been putting boots on car tires and leaving notes for the owner to send X amount of money to a nearby address and they would get the boot taken off. He had only done it a little while _-_ \- just long enough to see him through rent and groceries for the next month, as far as Jim had calculated.

It was, however, enough to get the man arrested, if Jim thought it was necessary to follow up on his threat.

"I switched departments, not jobs." the detective went on. "Now I'm not in Major Crimes anymore, so the number of people in there who are willing to give you a pass has dropped to... hmm, zero."

Wolfingham's hands slowly curled into loose fists. The neutral expression on his face started to curdle visibly.

"It's not that I won't be keeping an eye on you, but if you get arrested by Major Crimes, then there's even less I can do about it now." Jim pointed out, smiling. "So time to make nice with the rules, yeah?"

The scam artist made a face, like he was swallowing the words and didn't like at all how they tasted. The arrangement worked like a swap of favors. Wolfingham supplied the information and in return, the detective was willing to overlook a few minor indiscretions here and there. It was useful to have a few contacts out on the streets and even Jim's immediate captain had been aware of the deal. Wolfingham wasn't talented or skilled enough to really get himself into big trouble anyways, which made him comparatively safe.

But it also worked like this. Jim was, in a way, responsible for some of Wolfingham's behavior. Staying on the streets to be useful meant staying out of jail, first and foremost. The MCU treated criminals as though they didn't have the sense to know where to draw the line and that it was up to them (the police) to enforce it accordingly. Ergo, it was tacitly understood that Jim Gordon's job to remind J. Wilbur Wolfingham where that line was.

Except that it wasn't anymore.

The arrangement had essentially defuncted itself the moment the paperwork had been approved.

"Well, you know how much I love stayin' out of jail..." Wolfingham commented. The face he'd been making persisted for another second before he shook his head. "Fine, I'll play by the rules. But you know this means you gotta find a new contact. If you can't protect me anymore, I ain't got no reason to stick it out with you."

Jim nodded. "Then it was a pleasure working with you, Wilbur." he said. Internally, he groaned. It had taken him the better part of a year to get a useful contact like J. Wilbur Wolfingham. He had been a leaky pipe of information. Losing him was going to make things difficult in the future. "But you've still got one more thing to do before we call it quits."

"I know, I know." Wolfingham started, his hands spread placatingly. "First, you gotta know that I _really did_ put out the feelers on this one. You know I go the extra mile for you, 'cause I like you. Thing is, I didn't turn up a whole lot."

It was Jim's turn to scowl. "I expected that." he admitted. He didn't like admitting it, but if ten street contacts reported back with the same information, there was little chance that the eleventh would say anything different.

"Yeah, this operation was _real_ quiet-like." the scam artist said. "Didn't get any word on who's doing the kid-snatching, but it sounds like it's a sex ring?... Maybe a labor ring. I dunno, some of the lingo's the same. You could say 'doing a turn in the stables' and it means either a heroin processing line or someone's getting ass-fucked-"

"Okay, I don't need a detailed explanation." Jim said, holding up a hand. "But it's not... weird?"

Wolfingham blinked. "Weird like...?

"Weird like Superman. Meta-human kind of weird. Weird like Metropolis has been getting these last few months." Jim replied.

"Hah!" Wolfingham snorted, slapping his hand on the tabletop. He threw his head back and laughed triumphantly like he had just won a bet. "Hahah! Nope! Not a bit! Run of the mill, far as I can tell. I mean, as far as human trafficking goes. Sorry to disappoint."

"Nah, not disappointed. Just means it's not my problem anymore." the detective commented.

It was one good thing to tell the lieutenant, that they could punt this down to Missing Person's and not look back. Maggie had been hollow-eyed and sort of listless since Saturday night, so the news might put some vigor back into her step.

A very _minimum_ amount of vigor, likely. Jim suspected that no news would restore the full spring in her stride unless it was news about the Hellgrammite's corpse.

Wolfingham shoveled the rest of the rice and beans into his mouth and swallowed it all in one huge gulp. "Well, detective, good to catch up, sorry 'bout the SCU an' all." he said, piling everything onto his tray and grabbing his coat. "Gonna miss this nice little arrangement we had."

"Try your best to stay out of trouble." Jim advised. "I'm one of the nice ones."

Wolfingham snorted. "Sure you are."

He grabbed his tray and stood up from the table, flashing the detective one final smug-looking grin. He dropped his tray in the designated spot on the counter and then let him back out into the windy city. It wasn't until he was out of sight from the restaurant's front window that he about buckled over cackling.

 _Jim Gordon, one of the nice ones? Hah! I've heard better jokes from a candy wrapper!_

It may have been what the detective himself truly believed, but it couldn't have been further from the truth. Detective Gordon trod a line of civility, in the sense that he was reined in only by societal conventions and the honor of his police badge. He did what was expected of him _-_ \- staying inside the law and operating by procedure, even when it grated on him. Metropolis was a good city. It had little to no room for mercurial wild cards and people who wanted to buck the system.

Jim Gordon was far from one of the nice ones.

He had just convinced himself that he was.

Wolfingham had run with too many individuals who had operated on their own personal system of ethics and morals, one that didn't tally with the universally defined one. He recognized it when he saw it. If Jim Gordon hadn't tied himself to the thin blue line, then he would have become such a man. A man who rejected societal conventions because it stood in the way of getting things done.

One day, Jim Gordon would outgrow Metropolis and her demure restraint, her adherence to procedure. That would be the day he snapped and doled out justice in the manner he saw fit. There was something wild, like a beast, lurking under that man's controlled exterior. Wolfingham had seen it.

There would be two outcomes to that event. Gordon might pull back with remorse and ask himself what he done and seek redemption. Or he would just keep pushing forward and pushing harder until he was out of control and his fellow officers were forced to bring him down.

Quite honestly, Wolfingham hoped that he would be around to see the detective fall from grace.

But there was still room to grow before they got to that point. If they got to that point. The detective could very well get shot in the back before Metropolis ever started to chafe.

The street around him was practically empty. Wolfingham took out his phone _-_ \- some cheap smartphone wannabe that predated the Wayne Enterprises Pearl G1 by a year, and was only half as sophisticated (originally a poor design and an even poorer public reception). But the company and its carrier had been bought out for pennies. However cheap and useless the phone was, it was also largely untraceable.

He selected a number out of his contacts list and hit the call button. The other end of the line didn't ring _-_ \- the silence always threw him off. It clicked twice, loud and sort of meaty, like someone snapping their fingers. That was the signal going through security, Wolfingham knew. If his phone had been bugged or was otherwise being traced, he would get the _"this call cannot be completed"_ message. But no one had ever gotten their hands on his phone long enough to plant a bug on it and frankly, the cheap thing looked like it might fall apart if you squeezed it too hard.

The call went through.

" _Yes._ " answered the warm, honeyed voice that always made Wolfingham feel a bit weak around the knees every time he heard it.

"It's me, Madam A'daire. It's Wilbur." he replied. He tried to stand a little straighter. "I've got some news you'll want to he hear. It's the police. They caught wind of what we been doing in Metrodale. West River isn't compromised, but I'm guessin' it'll just be a matter of time."

" _I see. How deep do their suspicions go?_ " Madam A'daire asked.

"Not deep enough, but they're alerted to something." Wolfingham said, glancing reflexively over his shoulder even though the Mexican restaurant was well behind him now. "I managed to throw off the SCU detective doing the investigation, but this is Copper Jim. He's a smart one. He might be passin' it down the line for now, but if he gets any idea what's _really_ going on, you can bet he'll be back on the case before you can say 'Hail Lord Darkseid'."

Madam A'daire made a throaty "hrmm" noise that went straight to Wolfingham's crotch _-_ \- not a singularly exclusive reaction in the slightest. His thoughts started to turn in rather naughty directions. He quickly shook off the warm haze threatening him and tried to stay focused.

"Madam, I don't wanna make assumptions or seem outta line here," he started in a carefully neutral tone. "But maybe we oughta put this thing to bed? At least for a couple months, 'til something else comes along and distracts them. If the police know about it, probably won't be long before Superman does too."

" _Yes, of course..._ " Madam A'daire murmured, almost distractedly. " _It's too early. We're not ready for him yet._ "

They had only just started to adjust their plans to accommodate the Kryptonian. Carefully laid plans at that, and they had been forced to extend the time-table. Superman was still something of an unknown entity, but he had the potential to bulldoze the foundation if he found out about it too soon. He was a wannabe do-gooder hero-type and so brand new he was still reeling with gung-ho enthusiasm.

" _Thank you Wilbur. Your attentiveness is always welcome._ " Madam A'daire said, and Wolfingham warmed at the praise. " _I shall inform Mannheim that we will need a few months grace._ "

Wolfingham made a face. "Mannheim... Do you mean _-_ -" he started, but Whisper A'daire cut him off with an audible sneer.

" _Bruno Mannheim, of course! Not that fourth-rate hack of a Fury he married!_ " she snapped, all that warm honey gone from her voice. " _Remember who we owe our loyalty to!_ "

"Sorry, sorry." Wolfingham cringed a little. "Gets confusing sometimes, 'cause technically she outranks Bruno _-_ -"

" _Rank and loyalty are not interchangeable, Wilbur._ " Whisper said firmly. Her honeyed tone had been replaced by one that was coming up venomous. " _We pledged our loyalty to Bruno in the absence of His Dark Majesty. We do not owe a thing to that-_ - _!_ "

She said a phrase in a language that Wolfingham knew he would not be able to repeat, much less understand. But he heard Whisper use it before and he didn't need to understand it to know that the phrase was very insulting.

"I'll continue do my best, Madam." the scam artist said.

Whisper huffed out heavy-sounding breath. " _Is there anything else I should be aware of?_ " she asked, the honey starting to return to her voice.

"Yeah, I had to cut my ties with Copper Jim. He's still useful, but he got too close to this one. We'll need a new in with Major Crimes." Wolfingham replied. Cutting his association with the detective was really the best thing he could do **for** the detective. It kept him alive so he could continue to be useful. They would find some other made man to keep an eye on him.

" _Understood. My, we are just coming to all sorts of upsets recently. It never rains, but does it pour._ " Whisper commented, sounding breathless. " _Thank you Wilbur, you are truly invaluable._ "

"Glad to be of service." Wolfingham affected a little bow, even though she couldn't see it. "Have a good day, Madam."

Whisper hung up without a word (as was her prerogative). Wolfingham continued on his way with a slightly lighter step. It had been a pleasant day so far. Not a stand-out, but pleasant enough that he would definitely sleep soundly tonight.

After all, the greatest con he had ever pulled _-_ \- was **still** pulling, in fact _-_ \- was letting the police believe that he wasn't a very good conman.

* * *

There was a persistent twitch under Maggie's left eye and she didn't know how to get rid of it. She suspected that it had come around as a combination of a little too much crying and not enough sleep. She had no idea how much sleep she had clocked in the last few days, but it definitely wasn't enough.

Waiting outside the commissioner's office, leaning against the wall, the lieutenant looked down at her hands. Someone had given her a cup of tea. Not that lukewarm swill from the break room, but properly brewed tea and piping hot. It smelled faintly like ginger.

She had no idea who had given it to her.

It was funny. She **did** remember someone approaching her, slowly and tentatively like she might lash out at them. Someone young, possibly an intern. But she remembered nothing about their face or their voice or their clothes.

Just that they had given her a cup of tea.

Maggie blew on the beverage to cool it and took a tiny sip. The near-scalding heat felt good on the undefinable ache in the back of her throat. She took another sip, this time noting the taste of ginger and honey.

"Lieutenant Sawyer."

Maggie twitched, looking up. Commissioner Henderson was standing a few feet away with file folders in one hand and a cup of evil-smelling coffee in the other. He was almost comically short at five-foot two, glasses that made his eyes look owl-like, and he didn't cut a particularly imposing figure, but Maggie had heard rumors that he used to bare-knuckle box.

"Commissioner." Maggie pushed herself off the wall to stand straight. "I need to talk to you."

"Well, I suppose I can give you a minute." Commissioner Henderson commented, glancing down at the files like he was glad for the delay. "If you could get the door..." he added.

"Of course."

The lieutenant opened the door, entering an office that was all dark hardwood and large windows. The main building of the police complex was five floor talls and Commissioner Henderson had a double-wide corner office. It overlooked the streets of downtown and the people that rushed past on their... It was probably lunch break. Maggie was pretty sure it was close to noon.

Around the office was some fake plants to make things look lively. There was a small conference table with ten seats to the right of the entry. Roughly in the office's center were two facing couches and a water cooler. Finally, tucked against the back wall was the commissioner's desk - six feet long and four feet wide, hand-carved from oak, and weighing a frankly impossible amount. Intricate, deceivingly delicate in appearance, and the second and last of its kind, the masterpiece had been a gift to the city at its last centennial. Why it hadn't wound up in the mayor's office was anyone's guess.

The state and city flags stood sentry in the back corners. Lining the right-hand wall were framed headlines from fifteen years back outlining the most prolific of Commissioner Henderson's deeds. He had been instrumental in driving out the worst of the city's corruption and he had held together law and order when former Mayor Berkowitz had taken his plunge out of the big chair. The cumulative stress showed in his salt-and-pepper hair, and the lines etched in around his eyes.

He would be retiring soon, or so Maggie had heard. Now that the worst was behind them, it seemed that he was beginning to seriously consider stepping down from the post.

An irrational part of her wanted to scream at him. How could he even _think_ about retiring when there was still so much to be done? How could he walk away when Metropolis was changing under their feet?

But neither her inhibitions nor her manners had been eradicated by her lack of sleep, and so she merely followed him silently across the office to his desk.

"What can I do for you, Lieutenant?" Henderson asked, putting the folders down.

"I was supposed to give you a full debrief. About the events of Saturday night." Maggie replied. "I know you have the report from my second, but Detective Turpin said you wanted to see me directly."

"Oh, yes. I did." Henderson nodded, mostly to himself. He pushed the stack of folders over so he could see the label tabs, then tugged one out of the middle and opened it.

"I really only have one thing I would like you to clarify." he went on, leaning over Turpin's report. "Everything in here goes according to the SCU's procedures... Detective Turpin does make note of the fact you have been forced to adjust it according to the case's circumstances..."

"Yes, the cases aren't cut and dried. We've been improvising more often than not these last few weeks." Maggie explained.

Henderson nodded. "And that's fine. The SCU has fewer restrictions because you have a greater need for flexibility." he agreed. He looked up. "But when I authorized the use of the military-grade armament, I did not authorize Superman."

As if on cue, the twitch returned to Maggie's eye. The tea suddenly felt very warm in her hand and her fingers tightened around the cup. The one thing Commissioner Henderson could have focused on and it was Superman. Not the fact that they had left Captain Jase alone. Not the fact that they hadn't called for assistance right away. Not the few rules that they had actually violated. Not the fact that the Hellgrammite was still alive and well, that they had failed to kill it. Not the fact that there were three of those fuckers in total.

Superman.

 _Fuckin' Superman..._

How often was it going to come back to him, this brand-new superhero? So brand-new he still squeaked and shone, reeking of that proverbial new car smell. People were trying to feel him out, if he was trustworthy and worth their time.

The thing was, people were so eager to talk about him that they seemed to be forgetting what was really important. In a situation like this one, Superman was really just a foot-note.

The urge to heave the contents of the cup all over Henderson's face passed through Maggie. Fortunately, it was a fleeting urge and it was gone before she could really process it.

"Sir," she started tersely. "There's a portion of the DEO guidelines that states the commander of the SCU divisions _-_ \- in this case, me _-_ \- is granted full discretion with regards to temporary deputization of superheroes should it be deemed necessary. The situation was unlike anything we'd dealt with thus far and I was already down two team-mates. I made a judgment call. What else did you expect me to do?"

A snarl hit her voice on the last sentence, so sharp and audible that Henderson immediately squared his shoulders and set his jaw like he was expecting to block a fist.

"Watch your tone, Lieutenant." he warned.

"I'm serious. What else were you expecting me to do?" Maggie asked again, her voice rising. "The SCU isn't equipped to handle metahumans! Everybody knows that! We have no set procedures, no proper equipment, and god knows we don't have the numbers for it!"

"Lieutenant Sawyer _-_ -" Henderson started.

"No, no! I've held this in long enough!" Maggie snapped, hurriedly setting the tea down before she accidentally flung it everywhere. "I'm a good cop! Good at my job! That's why my transfer came with a promotion! You yourself told me that I would be a good fit for the SCU, but the day I walked in, there were just four people! You put me in charge of a department that only had four other people and a reputation as a joke! Do you know how many times I've had people ask me 'Found Bigfoot yet?'"

Henderson looked rather taken aback by her shouting. Somewhere in the back of Maggie's mind, she remembered how _bad_ it was to be raising her voice at the police commissioner, knowing full well that she was about to berate him for the SCU's treatment. He had the power to fire her, no questions asked.

But it was also true that she had been holding this in for quite long enough. Nothing was going to change if she didn't say anything.

"I've been brushing up on SCU procedure ever since Superman showed up. Not only is it nearly nonexistent, but I found out that we're supposed to have a minimum number of thirty people on staff! Thirty! _Minimum_! We started at five, barely made it to fourteen, and in less than a week, we're back down to eleven!" she bellowed. "The SCU needs _more people_! This isn't something I should have to shout about! We actually have a job to do now and we can't do it because we don't have the numbers or the training or the equipment needed to do it!"

"Lieutenant _-_ -" Henderson started again, this time his tone placating and calm.

"We were a joke because Metropolis was a normal city! What good was the leftovers of the DEO in a city where nothing abnormal happens?! But now the city's tilting on its axis and metahumans are crawling out of the woodwork like termites for the first time in several decades and your first line of defense is understaffed and under-equipped and untrained and you haven't done a damn thing about it!"

On the last words, Maggie swung a hand sharply _-_ \- fortunately too far away from anything fragile to send it flying. She felt herself deflate like a balloon, too tired to keep any of that anger burning.

"There are things out there more important than Superman." she said.

Henderson didn't reply. He didn't really move either. He stood beside the oaken desk with a faintly startled expression and a posture like he had just withstood the same whip-like winds that were still rushing up and down the avenues.

 _Oh, I am so fired._ Maggie thought. Now that the anger was gone, there was definitely room for terror. She had just screamed at the police commissioner, after all, and it wasn't so much as impolite as it was taboo.

"I'll just take my tea and go." she said, reaching for the cup so she could beat a hasty exit.

"Lieutenant Sawyer." Henderson moved, adjusting his posture to less wind-blown. "Have you had a good night's sleep since Saturday?"

Maggie gritted her teeth. "Sir _-_ -"

"Have you had a good night's sleep since Saturday?" the commissioner asked again, more firmly.

"Not as such." Maggie admitted. She hadn't slept on Saturday night and since then, she had clocked maybe fifteen hours altogether. Albeit broken and fitful and interrupted by hazy dreams that she couldn't make sense of.

"Then I will assume that that's the reason for the intensity of your outburst." Henderson went on, still calm but firm. "What I want you to do, Lieutenant, is to go home. Make yourself a sandwich. Take a bubble bath. Take a nap. You look like a wreck." he added, visibly concerned.

Maggie grimaced. "And then what?"

"Come back in Monday after the funeral service." Henderson replied. "The new building will be open, you'll have some fresh files on your desk, and I think you have a- what are you calling it?"

"A Hellgrammite."

The commissioner nodded. "That's right. You'll have a Hellgrammite to catch."

"Three Hellgrammites, sir." Maggie corrected, feeling weary just thinking about it.

"Three, right. That's why I want you to go home. You have a lot of work to do and you won't be able to do it if you run yourself into the ground." Henderson said. He took a step forward and moved a hand like he was going to place it on Maggie's shoulder, but then thought better of it. "This isn't your white whale, Lieutenant."

A very old frustration swum over Maggie, causing her to grit her teeth and her empty hand clenched into a fist. Her inauspicious first two months in the SCU and the proverbial white whale that had harshly turned her from skeptic back to believer.

She had never caught the metahuman who had murdered Detective Pierce.

She probably never would.

"I know." Maggie said. "But we need to kill these beasts, before they eat more people. And if I have to get Superman in on the task, I will. If he wants to help, then we should oblige him. I think we owe the dead _-_ \- and the living _-_ \- that much."

This time, Commissioner Henderson did put his hand on Maggie's shoulder. He did so lightly, like he was anticipating having to whisk it off in a heartbeat. "I understand." he said, and he looked like he did. "About the SCU... I'll see what I can do about the personnel numbers. You need a new supervisor anyways. I'll draft a few other folks as well. I can't make any promises on big numbers, though."

"I know. And everything else?" Maggie wondered.

"The manuals might be a little harder to get a hold of. I'll have to call around." Henderson admitted, already cringing. He could see mountains of paperwork in his mind's eye. "We'll get this sorted out, Lieutenant. It might take us the rest of the year, but we will have it sorted out. That's as much as I can promise."

She would have to take it. Commissioner Henderson was being as lenient as he could be, all things considered. He did understand; he had been down in the trenches with the rest of the boys and girls for years before taking the post of police commissioner. It was hard to lose good friends and old mentors. He knew the kind of mark that it left on a person.

"Thank you, Commissioner." Maggie said quietly. "I'm sorry I shouted at you. I was out of line."

"You're worn out and not thinking straight." Henderson pointed out patiently. He nudged her towards the door. "Go home while you still have the wherewithall to drive yourself there."

Maggie left without another word.

Home.

Sleep.

It was too much to wish for that she wouldn't have nightmares this time.

* * *

-0-


	10. L'chaim

The really really good thing about having these stories finished ahead of time is that I have time to go back and tweak them if I need to. Case in point: I was reading over Formation the other night and I realized that I had completely dropped a sub-plot without even a hint of a resolution and now I have go back and fit it into the story or the main sub-plot for Adamantine is going to look like it came out of nowhere. I think it's only going to be an additional two chapters, maybe three, so ideally it shouldn't take too long.

* * *

Chapter Ten: L'chaim

The funeral came and went.

Rather than hold three separate funerals and tax the SCU's emotions more than necessary, the city had opted for a single mass in the corner of the cemetery yard sectioned off for police and firefighters. Three graves, three coffins, and one body.

It had been a big stately affair, with a funerary procession that had been more of a parade and the mournful wail of the bagpipers echoing across the damp field of the cemetery. Twenty-one gun salutes, the posthumously awarded medals, and the flag-draped coffins as though they were war-heroes come home to rest.

The Marzan and Pittarese families had made their way up from their respective locations in Wisconsin and Minnesota, almost four dozen strong between them, all clad in black with sniffles and tissues, exchanging consolatory handshakes with each other and finding some sense of solidarity in that their children had been very good friends. They clustered around Captain Jase's lonesome widow, the rest of the family stuck on the icy Mackinac Bridge behind a several car pile-up.

Though with only one body to lay in the ground, the whole thing came off as ostentatious and unsuitable.

Captain Jase would have _hated_ it.

Or at least viciously disliked it.

Captain Jase had hated his dress blues and any event that required him to wear them instantly became very disliked indeed.

Maggie understood that. Her own dress blues never came out of the closet often enough to be considered 'broken in'. Still a little too stiff around the hems and seams. The heavy wool twill didn't like to bend. She took some comfort in the fact that the rest of the SCU looked just as stilted as she did.

Turpin had itched and pulled at the wool clothes, trying to stretch the choking collar and shifting about like his shoes no longer fit properly. Certainly the uniform strained a little around his mid-section and upper arms. He hadn't worn the uniform in three years and he had put on some weight and muscle since then. By the time he had realized the blues no longer fit the way they used to, it had been far too late to go in for a re-fit.

James Harper handled his stiff dress blues with a grace that none of them had yet managed, but with an expression that suggested he was doing everything in his power to forget that he was actually wearing them.

Colletta couldn't stand at attention for longer than a minute, constantly poking a finger up under her peaked cap as though she was stopping hair from escaping. She had quite a lot of hair. They had weaved the whole mass into a braid just to stuff it under the cap, despite the resulting somewhat lumpy and inelegant appearance.

If anyone came close to looking vaguely comfortable in the formal uniform, it was Jim Gordon. He stood at attention with an envious stillness, but walked like a long-legged shore-bird, like he was trying to avoid thigh-chafing.

Frankly, they all looked a little ridiculous.

Between the eulogies, the presentation of medals and the salutes, the laying of the flowers, and the hymns, the otherwise non-denominational ceremony lasted just over two hours. The bagpipers struck up _Nearer, My God, To Thee_ and the crowd started to show signs of dispersing. Maggie glanced around to make sure that no one was expecting her and reached under her seat to retrieve the bouquet of lilacs.

They weren't for Captain Jase, though, or her two detectives. Not this time. She didn't come to the cemetery very often. It was far enough south out of the city that she could never quite justify to herself why she should make the trip. But as long as she was here, she might as well pay her respects.

Her movement away from the funeral caught only Detective Jones's eye. Maggie froze for an infinitesimal second, half-expecting a mild reprimand for walking away. At the current moment, she was the senior-most officer in the SCU and there was likely going to be a line of people who wanted to talk to her. Funerals always seemed to bring out the chatty side in people.

But then Jones tilted his head and mouthed _'go'_ , and Maggie hurried off before anyone else could notice her.

She made her way down a gentle slope, down the path that wound between the grave sites. The headstones bore the names of policemen and firefighters, and some paramedics who had particularly distinguished themselves. Those headstones were marked by Rod of Asclepius. The late police officers had the six-pointed star that looked like a sheriff's badge, and the firefighters were given the Maltese Cross.

Maggie didn't have to go too far to find the grave she was looking for. All deceased members of the SCU had been buried in roughly the same radius. The headstone was a solid block of white marble, the name, dates, and epitaph hardly worn down even after three years. She brushed away the dried-out and months-old stems already there and placed the lilacs, then stood back and tried to remember the prayers from her Catholic upbringing.

It only took two seconds for her to start feeling ridiculous. She had given up on religion years ago. During high school, when she had finally gotten up the courage to ask one of the least straight-laced nuns in the entire school what God thought about lesbians and was, without hesitation, told that all gays and lesbians would go to hell. Her own parents had looked her straight in the eye and said the same thing.

Maggie had given up Catholicism well before she had ever accepted her own orientation.

She still had faith, but not in the long-winded dissertations that her parents had so stridently recited. The ones they clung to with such desperation, like it was the only thing between them and a bottomless pit. She hadn't opened a Bible or set foot in a church since her divorce, when the circumstances had forced her to come out to every member of her extended family. Nearly every eye had looked away in disgust or shame, disdainful sniffs and muffled sobs from various corners of the room. In that second, it was like she had stopped existing. Her parents had looked at her sadly, mournfully, like they were attending her funeral.

Only her little brother Todd had held her gaze for longer than a second before he too had looked away, but only because he feared the same treatment, she'd later learned. Kicked out of the house by her husband and essentially ex-communicated by her parents, Todd had risked his own relationship with them to offer her the couch at his apartment until she could get back on her feet.

" _Why?"_ she had asked him back then, still reeling from the emotional upheaval and the sting of betrayal and abandonment, and barely able to believe that she still had someone on her side.

" _Because nothing is going to make me turn my back when somebody needs help, especially if it's my sister."_ he had replied, all while dragging her towards his car. _"I'll go to hell with you, if it comes to that."_

Maggie had faith that people could be good and decent and kind. That they didn't need to have God dictating a list of behavioral rules at them just to ensure that they acted with benevolence towards their fellow human being.

That was all she needed.

They had sun today _-_ \- a pale watery sunlight that was filtered through thin gray clouds. The lightest of breezes, just enough to stir the grass and the flower petals. On the not-distant horizon, Metropolis did not loom. It never loomed. The skyscrapers of New Troy rose stately and majestic into the sky, like silent watchful sentries that would always come to protect.

Away from the sonorous whine of the bagpipes and the rising murmur of the funeral attendees, Maggie heard someone approach her _-_ \- the rustle and crunch of the footsteps across the short-cut lawn, and muscles tightened along her spine. But it was no police officer _-_ \- their stride would have been different, more commanding. She caught a glimpse of auburn hair and smelled Lori's spicy perfume. The other woman came up not quite beside her, but just behind her and gently threaded her fingers through Maggie's.

"A friend?" Lori wondered, gesturing to the headstone.

"Barely. I didn't get a chance to know her very well." Maggie replied. "Alaina Pierce. Former detective of the SCU." she added. "I had a massive crush on her."

Lori smiled. "Oh?" she prompted.

"Yeah, she was gorgeous. Straight as a white suburban PTA house-wife named Helen and engaged, but gorgeous." Maggie replied, smiling, however faintly. "Curly chestnut hair _-_ \- I'm talking corkscrew curls here, so coiled they'd probably wrap right around your finger. This great smile that made my knees melt. Her eyes were this pale blue-gray, like the sky right now. And her voice... Ooh, _that_ voice. Like dark chocolate. My first lesbian crush. It was horrible."

It felt a bit wrong to laugh, but Lori did anyways and got an elbow poked into her ribs for it.

"How was it horrible?" she asked rhetorically. "I know that crushes in general are kind of embarrassing, but I couldn't imagine them being horrible."

"That's because you didn't grow up with the God-fearing parents and tight-laced nuns for teachers." the lieutenant pointed out, poking her girlfriend in the ribs again. "I'm serious. By the time we met, I was mostly in a good head-space about being a lesbian. But those first few months, I was fresh off the worst of the divorce and I was still trying to rationalize my attraction to women. I was still in denial up to my neck."

She had thought the move to Metropolis would be a fresh start. Not that she had been wrong, but she might as well have regressed to being a teenager again for as often as her hormones had stood up and got the blood moving in the wrong direction. No longer forced to repress as hard, she had started noticing pretty girls all over the place.

' _Just a phase I'm not_ _ **that**_ _gay'_ , she must have told herself a hundred times in her first week alone. Every time Detective Pierce had said even one word in that soft throaty purr of hers or when she took her hair out of its ponytail at the end of the day and those corkscrew tresses would cascade down her back, Maggie's heart-rate and horniness would jump tenfold. She couldn't count the number of cold showers.

Retroactively, Maggie felt very sorry for Detective Jones. Him being telepathic did explain why he had spent most of those first two months hiding behind a newspaper and refusing to look her in the eye.

Lori tightened her grip on Maggie's hand comfortingly. She hadn't grown up with the same oppressive religious denial and her acceptance of her own sexual orientation had been more of a slow easy slide. She had been raised by a single father who had worked sixty hour weeks and spent his weekends half asleep and he had probably never noticed his daughter bringing home girls rather than boys. Never around long enough to think anything strange of it.

Then again, her father had never really had the time to take notice of her, not with his twelve-hour work-days and sometimes double shifts so they could make ends meet. It was the elder drag queen next door who had taught her all the domestic skills she had needed to learn and everything else a girl oughta know to get on safely in the world.

So Lori had gotten the freedom to explore her own sexuality on her own terms with the encouragement of a Stonewall-era veteran while Maggie had squashed it all down and denied it in order to fit in with a microcosm of society that wouldn't accept her otherwise.

After letting another moment pass in silence, Lori finally asked: "What happened?"

Maggie sucked in a fortifying breath. The last time she had talked about this had been three years ago, during the final debriefing. Then the file had closed and the case shelved and she hadn't had to think of it again.

"Do you recall those bizarre accidental deaths that some thought were suicides? The Rube Goldberg deaths." she prompted. So nicknamed for the completely impossible way each person had died.

"I remember reading about them." Lori nodded. "Lois Lane's first rodeo. I think she had the idea they were murders?"

"Yeah, Detective Pierce was completely convinced that they were murders and Ms. Lane was definitely smelling something the rest of us weren't." the lieutenant said. "I didn't believe her. Pierce I mean. None of us did. She didn't have proof; just a bit of information that didn't stack up. They really weren't in our jurisdiction anyways. We didn't develop the Code Veitch signal until a few months after."

"So she went out looking for more proof... And it got her killed?" Lori presumed.

"Probably." Maggie shrugged. "She didn't go home one night. Her fiance let us look around her home office. It took us two days, but we found enough evidence to suggest that she was heading to the Old Town docks. I found her just in time for a metahuman to kill her."

Lori gasped.

"Charade." Maggie growled out the name between gritted teeth. "That's what the bitch called herself. Charade. She could control people like shadow-puppets. Get into her line of sight, all she had to do was wiggle her fingers and you've lost control of your limbs. She had me pinned and..."

She couldn't finish, even with Lori rubbing her hands warmly against her own. Three years didn't make the events any easier to relate. It had been Pierce's own hand that had killed her, forced into motion by Charade's abilities and Maggie had stood witness to every single thrust of the knife, her arms and legs locked in place, unable to do anything but scream.

She had been standing too close to the arterial spray. In her darkest nightmares, she still felt Pierce's blood cooling on her skin.

"What about the Rube Goldberg deaths?" Lori wondered softly.

Maggie shook her head. "We never made any connection between them and that metahuman. Four of the seven victims were involved in Berkowitz's court case. The other three were completely unconnected to anything. I think... I think Pierce just got unlucky. Followed the right lead, but kicked down the wrong door and paid the price for it."

There could have been a connection, for as little as they knew. There had been no time to stall Charade and squeeze any kind of confession out of her (not that it was likely the bitch would have talked). Anything Pierce had known had died with her; her notes were incomplete. The situation had come and gone like a whirlwind, with hardly any time at all to gather information.

The deaths had been impossible. They had been ruled as accidents, but only because no one knew what else to call them. No human being could have done that to themselves on purpose, but Charade's shadow-boxing abilities would have ensured no trace of evidence to link her to the crime.

Sometimes, Maggie thought that Pierce had been on to something after all. That she must have learned something adjacent to the truth. Once discovered, Charade had had no reason to leave Maggie alive and yet the lieutenant had still walked away from that physically unharmed.

Pierce had died because she had learned something worth getting killed over.

Occam's Razor. The Gordian Knot Solution. The Pierce Protocol.

The simplest solution is the most likely. Don't make it more complicated than it is.

"Jones is hosting the wake." Maggie said, changing the subject completely. She didn't want to talk about Detective Pierce anymore. "I'm not sure when I'll home. Probably later than six. I'll text you before I leave."

"I'd say 'have fun'..." Lori trailed off with a shrug. "Just get home safe."

"I will." Maggie assured her.

* * *

Jones was the only one of them now who lived in a house. A single-story little bungalow style house near the very edge of Metropolis, where the suburban landscape gave way undeveloped fallow fields and a swathe of old growth trees that surrounded the cemetery.

The house wasn't much bigger than Maggie's own apartment and Jones didn't have guests over anywhere near at all, so the space wasn't really designed to entertain. But the couch seated four, the table seated five, and the two armchairs accommodated the rest of them.

More importantly, there was pizza. Chicken wings. Brownies. Soda. Anything that was fried, greasy, salty, fatty or sweet. Anything that would tempt their appetites into eating after a week of grief-related fasting.

Maggie knew she wasn't going to be able to look at yohgurt or oatmeal again until at least the end of the summer.

Jones pulled the cork on two bottles of red wine and poured some into plastic Dixie cups, as they gathered around the dining table with a solemn air. There was one formality they needed to get out of the way first.

"Anyone have a toast they'd like to make?" Maggie asked.

"To the Met P.D. May they start taking us more seriously now." Sergeant Kesel said, albeit in a slightly bitter tone.

"To the awesome coffee people Capt'n Jase knew for keeping us supplied in really good coffee." Collette said, to a chuckling agreement. It would be a shame to have to go back to the generic coffee brands after so long with the good stuff. The coffee company in question had decided that the best way to honor Captain Jase's memory was to keep the good coffee flowing.

"To Aaron Jase, Leslie Marzan, Greg Pittarese... and Alaina Pierce." Lupe said, glancing at the lieutenant like she was making sure it was okay. "May they be the only names we ever put on the list."

The solemn moment returned threefold, though with a vague sense of confusion. Frowning, Maggie looked around at the assembled group and realized that none of them, save for herself, Jones, and Lupe, even knew who Pierce was. The late detective was just a picture on the wall to them.

But she was a picture on the wall, meaning they didn't need to ask after her fate.

" _L'chaim_." Turpin offered, raising his cup in the silence. "To life."

A ripple of movement followed, the red plastic cups looking almost ridiculous during such a moment.

"To life." they echoed.

To life and the way it kept on.

The mood lightened slowly after that. Funerals were a catharsis. There was a sense of finality to them and for the SCU, it was a good sense of finality. It meant that something was over and something _else_ could begin.

Maggie tried not to feel like they had come to the end of an era.

The end of normal Metropolis and the beginning of a city she could only sort of recognize.

It didn't take very long for the stories to come out.

" _-_ -All of a sudden, I turn around and Pittarese looks like grape there was so much _purple_ everywhere. I don't even know where the paint came from. I'm ninety-nine percent sure it wasn't a metahuman at all but kids with balloons full of paint, but we never actually found out for sure _-_ \- I think I have a picture _-_ -"

"Is that why he wore a grape costume to the job fair?"

"Y'know, I think so."

" _-_ -I mean, we were in the _middle_ of Glenmorgan Square covered in _entrails_! We looked like we'd walked out of an abattoir and Marzan gives me this really bored look and says 'I've seen worse'- No, no, you're going to have to read the file on this one. I can't explain it. It's the most Veitch of all our Code Vietches _-_ -"

"Wait, wait, she just says 'I've seen worse'?"

"Yeah, well, she was born in Gotham right? So I bet she's seen worse than _-_ \- whatever that was. I still don't know. Year and a half later and I still don't know what happened _-_ -"

" _-_ -So Captain Jase takes me in and there's Jones... And there's Pierce. And I'm like 'where is everyone else?' And Captain Jase goes: 'Oh yeah, Lupe, get out here' and she comes out. But there's still only three people in front of me so I ask again 'where is everyone' and they're like 'this is it'. The only thought that goes across my head is 'I'm being fucked with'."

"You _were_ being fucked with, Lieutenant. We were all being fucked with. I told you that. If you thought we weren't being taken seriously _now_ , you should have seen us back then. Before we got the lieutenant. I don't think anyone could make _eye_ contact without giggling _-_ -"

" _-_ -Yeah, they just walk in and there's powdered sugar all over them and all they would say was that a bag exploded on them and me I'm over there thinking they got attacked by a bakery chef _-_ -"

"Nah, nah, the real stories I'm gonna miss are the captain's. I mean, he was on the force for like thirty years and there must have been some wild shit he saw. I don't think he told us half the things that actually happened _-_ -"

But sooner than it seemed, the stories wound down and they ran out of words to say. As seven in the evening approached, it occurred to them that they oughta start getting home, to the families and friends and significant others. In ones and twos, the SCU departed _-_ \- usually with a Tupperware container of food to go _-_ \- until it was just Maggie, Lupe, and Jones left.

A tired kind of silence settled over the living area. Maggie slumped lower in the armchair, not quite ready to make the drive home yet. The day had just been an emotionally taxing cap on a long week. She was used to the SCU changing, but it had always grown. Another person added. Another success made. They had never lost three people in the space of a week, nor had they ever _failed_ like this.

"Are we the old guard now?" she wondered out loud. "The last ones who remember the before?"

Lupe blinked. "Before what?"

"Before we took it seriously."

"Yes. Yes, I think we are." Jones said. He appeared unsettled by the notion.

"If that's what we are, then it's our responsibility to ensure that no one repeats the mistakes we made." Lupe declared, with a decisiveness that had been absent for the past week. "Not the ones now and not the ones from back then."

She didn't need to specify "back then".

Jones got up suddenly like a thought had struck him and disappeared into the kitchen. He came back with three glass tumblers and a bottle of Kentucky bourbon and poured two fingers each.

"To us, the old guard." he proposed, passing the tumblers around.

"Cheers." Maggie murmured.

" _Salud_." Lupe agreed.

They clinked the glasses together and drank. The whiskey burned all the way down.

That was what they were now. The old guard. The last of the original line of defense. Founders in their own way. But they couldn't afford to be stagnant and resistant to change like an old guard often was. Metropolis was a little different even more every day and they had to keep up, or Jase, Pittarese, and Marzan would simply be the first to go, instead of the only.

Maggie set the glass gently down on the coffee table. "I should be heading home." she said. "I'll have to fight the Saturday night traffic as it is."

"I will walk you out." Jones offered, getting up from his seat as she did.

Lupe just waved a hand and reached for the whiskey bottle to help herself to a bit more. Her husband was coming to pick her up in half an hour, so her blood-alcohol level was a non-issue.

Maggie collected her coat and let Jones walk her out the door. The neighborhood had gone half-dark _-_ \- it wasn't a lively one to begin with. This close to the city limits and it was little better than a bedroom community. Instead, she stopped at the end of the front walk and looked upward towards the sky. The thin clouds from the day had since cleared away, but the stars were lost in Metropolis's urban glow.

"The one thing I dislike about living so near to a city is that you cannot see the stars." Jones commented, following her gaze.

"I've never lived out in the countryside." Maggie confessed. City suburbs were as close as she had ever gotten. Even then, the light pollution from Star City had been considerable.

And her parents had despised the idea of camping.

She had some vacation time coming up in July. Maybe she oughta grab Lori and go hit up one of the campgrounds on the other side of Lake Michigan. Get away from it all for a couple of days.

"I roadtripped from Midway City to here. It took me all summer and I cannot regret a second of it." Jones said. He must have spent most of that time up in the Rockies, where the wind was cool and the city lights couldn't reach and he had been able to walk freely for the first time in years.

"You ever think about it sometimes? Just hitting the road and not stopping?" Maggie wondered, half rhetorical and half curious. "When I was a teenager, I used to stare down the roads I couldn't go and wonder what was down that way."

 _Especially_ when she had been a teenager, when the expectations of adulthood had started to pile on too early and she'd had to push herself down even further and further. She had thought too often of packing a bag and sprinting away in the middle of the night, never looking back and never regretting it for a second.

"John," she started tentatively, turning around fully to face him. "Was Pierce telling the truth? About the deaths being murders?"

The tall man inhaled slowly and let it out in a resigned sigh, like he had been expecting this question for years. "I cannot differentiate between what the truth is and what the truth is believed to be." he said. "Alaina believed in her evidence. To her, it was the truth."

"So the truth is entirely subjective." Maggie muttered.

Jones shrugged. "A person's viewpoint defines their reality. But it is one piece in a greater puzzle. You know how this works, Lieutenant. Multiple viewpoints must be obtained in order to find what they all have in common." he explained. "Alaina's belief was just one such viewpoint. She may have indeed been wrong, but was too caught up in her own truth to notice."

Maggie bit back a grimace. She knew what Jones was saying; that Alaina had run headlong into her own death because she had been just foolhardy enough. Not arrogant or overly proud, but confident and forward with her opinions. However, by the time Maggie had been given command of the SCU, Alaina had been used to acting of her own initiative when necessary. Maggie had refused to let her investigate into something that didn't appear to have any real depth to it and the detective had been _too_ confident that there was something more.

The Pierce Protocol was half a warning.

"She wasn't killed for nothing." the lieutenant declared. "Whatever really happened, her death didn't amount to nothing. It changed the SCU and that means everything."

A steady rise in numbers, somewhat better funding, a slight increase in overall respect, and a drastic change in their own approach to the unusual and the weird. Alaina Pierce's death had made the SCU into what it was today.

"Yes, it does." Jones agreed. "You should go home, Lieutenant. It has been a very long week and they're expecting us bright and early on Monday."

Of course, they got their new building on Monday. The ribbon-cutting ceremony was at eight in the morning and they were supposed to meet their new supervisor. She had no idea who they were getting.

"Good night, John." Maggie said.

"Good night, Lieutenant." Jones bobbed his head like he was bowing very slightly and then turned back up the walk.

Maggie glanced either way down the street for oncoming cars and then stepped off the sidewalk. She felt lighter, freer, like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She felt _good_.

Maybe she could tackle Monday for a change.

* * *

-0-


	11. The Older Guard

I'm officially into endgame for my Flash origin story and I can't tell is my head is exploding or imploding.

Also, if you're not watching Gotham season 4, you're missing out on Bruce's early adventures in *ahem* "rock climbing".

* * *

Chapter Eleven: The Older Guard

Commissioner Henderson had made good on his promise to get the SCU more people, but Maggie couldn't say that she was impressed with the line-up she had been presented with.

At least, she had expected a few more than four people.

Cynthia Chidester, late twenties, a black women with some undefineable trace of Hispanic descent and hips that don't lie. Originally a part of the traffic patrol unit. Her file noted that she had gone through SWAT training, though her transfer to here had come through just as she had completed the course. She had also gone through six months of EMT training before switching her focus to law and order.

Scott McLaughlin. Black haired with a chin that made him look rough around the edges. Early thirties, but he didn't look like he was going to age well. Narcotics detective and five years of experience in SWAT. Multiple commendations for his marksmanship. Known affectionately around the department as "Skeeter".

Alexander Royer. He had the blonde-haired, blue-eyed all-American look, but with a scuff of trimmed beard, like he was trying to grow out of his babyface. An officer first grade with three and a half years on the patrol beat. His stomping grounds had been Midtown. Nothing on his record to suggest that he came highly recommended and his disciplinary referrals were a bit more numbered than Maggie liked.

Finally, Sherman Giacoia, the personification of the well-groomed Italian man who liked his appearance in the mirror. Dark hair, dark eyes, and dark skin, his clothes impeccably arranged. Another officer first grade, but a medical first responder. He had the most extensive medical training out of anyone in the SCU thus far, right down to the Bachelor's Degree in medicine. More telling was the note in his file which indicated that he had been present at the scene when Marzan and Pittarese had gone missing.

Maggie wasn't sure where the vague sense of trepidation was coming from. Three out of the four came with good records and useful skills. Officer Giacoia filled in the gap in their medical knowlege. Chidester and McLaughlin's SWAT training was always a good addition and it would take some of the pressure off Officer Mills.

Officer Royer was the only outlier _-_ \- Maggie suspected that the patrol units had probably been trying to get rid of him. But stick him under Sergeant Kesel or Officer Harper, and she could have Royer smashed into a more tolerable shape in a matter of months.

Maybe it was the fact that there was only _four_ of them. Out of an entire police force thousands of individuals strong with more new recruits every month, only _four_ people could be spared for the ailing SCU. It didn't even bring them up to code. Not even close. It just made them half of what they should be.

 _Commissioner, you and I are going to have words later today._ Maggie thought, teeth clenching as she tried not to let any frustration show through the expression-less mask. Four people was better than no one at all, but she couldn't keep that mindset if she expected the SCU to improve.

"Gentlemen, lady." Maggie began, looking up from the personnel files. "This is the Special Crimes Unit. By 'special', I mean the weird stuff. By 'weird stuff', I mean aliens from Venus and molemen in the sewers."

Royer started to raise a hand.

"No, I don't know if there are aliens from Venus or molemen in the sewers." the lieutenant added before he could do more than take a breath. "The SCU was originally a police-affiliated branch of the Department of Extranormal Operations. We were absorbed into the police following the DEO's dissolution, but our job parameters did not change. We still deal with metahumans, of which there is a growing number in this city."

Royer's hand shot into the air again. "Deal how?"

"I'm glad you asked." Maggie said, grinning falsely. "I have no clue, so I'm open to any and all suggestions, no matter how stupid."

If all the new recruits had looked vaguely unsettled walking into her shiny new office, then they looked downright nervous now. McLaughlin and Chidester shared uncertain looks and Giacoia's chair creaked under him when he tried to shift his weight undetected.

"That's the reality of this job, folks." Maggie went on, leaning forward. "We have fewer rules governing our policies and conduct, because we require a greater freedom, more flexibility, in order to actually _do_ the job. Unfortunately, the policies and conducts don't work like they used to. It's a very different Metropolis out there and we have to be a very different SCU if we're going to keep up."

Royer's hand went up a third time. "What about all the stuff left over from the DEO? They had like, handbooks and stuff, right?"

"Buried under piles of paperwork, red tape, and possibly concrete, if not destroyed." Maggie replied, a tad cheerfully. "Normally, I wouldn't let you out into the field until you've read **our** handbook from back to front and passed the quiz on it. But we're rewriting things as we go and time is coming at a premium. Any questions from the rest of you?"

McLaughlin put his hand up this time. "Is it true we might get to work with Superman?" he wondered.

"That's not for me to decide." Maggie answered. It was true; all she could do was ask. Superman was perfectly within his rights to refuse to assist (he wouldn't, though; if the last three months had determined anything, it was that he was a chronic do-gooder).

"Any other questions at this time?" Maggie prompted, glancing to Chidester and Giacoia, but they remained silent. "Then let me lay it out for you. We are flying by the seat of our pants along a job that can become very dangerous very quickly. In the three years that I have held command, we have lost four people. Fortunately, _only_ four people but three of those funerals were this past Saturday. All four individuals were killed as a result of poor planning and too little knowledge about the nature of the perpetrator, which caused the entire situation, both times, to turn south in the blink of an eye.

"I suggest that you kiss your leisure time goodbye, hug your families every time you see them, and be prepared to love the taste and smell of coffee, donuts, pizza, and beer. We pretty much live off that stuff most days. In short, you will be overpaid, overworked, and under-respected."

She looked at the four of them, from Chidester's wide eyes on the far left to Giacoia's tilted eyebrows on the far right.

"Welcome to the SCU, you motherfuckers."

She did mean that endearingly _-_ \- or as endearingly as the word 'motherfucker' could get. Though her stress levels had dropped since Saturday, they were still simmering on a low boil. So that 'motherfucker' came out a bit more... mean-spirited than she intended.

"Now, we'll do proper introductions to the others when things aren't so hectic." Maggie said, making a show of closing their personnel files. "Go to the bullpen and tell them the lieutenant says 'war meeting' and get your butts into the conference room."

No one moved.

"Dismissed." she prompted.

The four newcomers hastily got out of their seats. Though they didn't move any faster than a walk, it was pretty clear to Maggie that they were basically sprinting for the door. Royer and Chidester tried to go through at the same time and got briefly stuck on each other before Chidester swung those bell-shaped hips of hers to push the comparatively smaller Royer out of the way. McLaughlin and Giacoia pulled him back even further so they could get out of the door ahead of him.

 _Ah yes, you are the unpopular one._ Maggie observed, watching the display.

When she heard them shamble to the end of the hall _-_ \- when she was sure that they weren't going to turn back and ask her a question _-_ \- her shoulders dropped and her posture slumped and she let her forehead sink down onto the glossy new desktop.

"Oh my god..." she whispered.

It was only Tuesday and it had been a very long week already.

Monday had been simple. Cut the ribbon on the new building, have a bit of a house-warming party, and then move everything out of that grotty basement office. They had new _everything_. Desk, chairs, computers, office phones, and other such helpful equipment.

Mitch and Lyle had exclaimed loudly and excitedly over the shiny new lab and everything in it. Lupe had the entire dispatch room to herself. Steve and Colletta had stress-tested the warehouse-fresh desk chairs by racing them down the empty aisles between the desks. They had holding cells and evidence storage rooms and enough desk-space for one hundred people and Maggie had a really swank corner office on the top floor.

They had a break room with coffee machines and couches and armchairs, and a weight room and bigger locker rooms. They had not one but _three_ rooms for record-keeping and a properly outfitted armory, a security desk with actual people behind it, and a nice big training room that was large enough for Harper to literally turn backflips fourteen times in a row.

Tuesday was proving to be less simple.

Monday had been an acceptable break from reality.

Tuesday not so much.

Maggie took a deep breath and raised her head. _Be cool, Mags. You've got this._ She told herself, straightening out her hair. _I don't what that_ _ **is**_ _, but you've got it. You're the officer-in-charge of the SCU. Fourteen other people are looking at you and there's a new supervisor breathing down your neck now._

Well, it was too early to assume that the new supervisor was going to breathe down her neck to make sure she was doing her job correctly, but it was also too early to assume that he _wouldn't_.

She stood up, absently tugging at the bottom hem of her blazer jacket and smoothing down the wrinkles. Her smartphone went into its customary place in her left pocket and then she picked up the equally brand-new leather binder that Commissioner Henderson had given her as part of the "housewarming" gift. She had immediately put it to use, having it house all of the high-profile cases that needed to be dealt with immediately. Tucking that binder under her arm, she left her office and went just down the hall to the next door over.

Captain Jases's name-plaque had been hastily pulled and the new plaque hadn't been slotted in yet. The empty space above " _SCU Supervisor_ " looked odd, but it would likely be filled in by the end of the week.

The door was partially open and Maggie rapped a knuckle on it.

"Come in!" called the voice that wasn't going to be the one she expected.

Maggie pushed the door open and stepped just inside the threshold. Behind the desk was Commander Gray Friedland, formerly the officer-in-charge of the Major Crimes Unit. He had plenty of solid years of experience on him, an excellent record, and many of Maggie's detectives were already familiar with him. He wasn't a total stranger. In these upset times, that was a good thing. A familiar face provided a sense of stability.

The commander glanced up and a toothy smile stretched across his broad face.

"Lieutenant! Is there something I can help you with?" he wondered.

"We're having a meeting in five minutes." Maggie explained. "I usually try to hold one every Monday and Friday morning, to make sure we're all on the same page. Bad communication kills."

"That it does." Commander Friedland agreed. "I take it I'm supposed to be there?"

 _You'd be a really lousy supervisor if you weren't._ Maggie didn't say. "For the moment, I'd say it's required, if you're going to fully understand how we do things around here." she said. "According to Detective Gordon, the only similarity between us and the MCU is the amount of paperwork."

Commander Friedland barked out a laugh. "Paperwork's the same in every department!" he chuckled.

The commander eased himself out of the desk chair, reaching for his cane. He was only a year older than Captain Jase, but he moved more slowly. The limp in his left knee was pronounced. He had taken a bullet through it maybe five or six years ago. Reconstructive surgery had only been able to do so much.

He was not a man who was permitted to go on active duty anymore. He was office-bound until retirement.

A slightly selfish part of Maggie thought: _Good, I don't to lose another supervisor in less than a month._

"It's good to see Gordon again. I think the SCU agreed with him." Commander Friedland commented conversationally, once he was on his feet.

"Oh?" Maggie pushed the door open fully and stood aside so the older man wouldn't have to struggle past her.

"Yeah, it looks like he's finally got a good outlet for all that wild restless energy of his. I mean, you've actually got him in a desk _doing_ his paperwork. That's a miracle, Lieutenant. How did you do it?"

Maggie shrugged. "I keep him busy."

She had heard the stories, of course. Jim Gordon had the behavioral patterns of a loose cannon and all of the energy, but none of the impulsiveness. He had bounced around and knocked against procedure like it was a brick wall, buckling under the restraints of conduct codes. His partners hadn't been able to keep up, literally. The man was a champion sprinter. Even at the height of his smoking habit, Jim had still outrun his non-smoking comrades. Hell, he was even faster now for having kicked the habit within the last year.

But Maggie had both Colletta Kanigher and Corey Mills as her resident cannonballs well before Jim had made his triumphant arrival. She knew how to deal with the likes of that and that was to keep the cannonball on target. Make sure the assignments were lined up one after the other. Make sure they always had something to do and they wouldn't go off the rails looking for it.

It was a very basic thing, but Commander Friedland didn't seem to have grasped that.

They made their way out of the corridor, which opened directly into the bullpen. Seven desks were visibly in use _-_ \- Mitch and Lyle had made themselves comfortable in the forensics lab, Sergeant Escudero was bunked up near the records room, and Turpin had an office too _-_ \- but four more desks appeared to have been hastily claimed by their newcomers, their coats thrown over the chairs.

The conference room on the top floor was one of three in the entire building. There was a huge one down on the bottom floor that had the seating capacity of over one hundred people, no doubt intended for department-wide meetings. This one, however, seated just about three dozen. It was probably meant for the senior staff to have private meetings.

But with only sixteen people, it sure made for a lot of empty seats.

The conference table was oval-shaped and absurdly long, with most of the middle portion cut out to accommodate the equipment and keep it out of sight. It was also the most high-tech conference table that Maggie had ever laid eyes on. Embedded into the glossy, treated wood in front of each chair was a touch-screen. They were all linked to the cray supercomputer in a cooled basement room. Everything that went into the SCU's desk-top computers was also saved into that supercomputer and could be pulled up on any of the conference room touch-screens.

It was ridiculous and Maggie loved it already.

Her only misgiving was that LexCorp had provided every last single circuit board, apparently out of the goodness of Luthor's own blackened heart.

"Good morning, folks." Maggie called out, entering the conference room with Commander Friedland limping in after her.

"G'morning, Lieutenant." came the reply, in sleepy voices at different times. The coffee was firmly in hand and Pittarese's distant cousin who owned the bakery had sent over their usual order of donuts.

It was a better morning already.

"Second verse same as the first, people." Maggie started, swiftly making her way to the head of the table. "We still have the Hellgrammites to deal with. For the benefit of our new kids _-_ -"

Commander Friedland interrupted with a noise that sounded like _"ermherf"_.

"Yes commander?" Maggie prompted.

"Since we're all in one place," Commander Friedland started. "I wanted to say a few words about... Well, about this new venture we're all starting out on."

Maggie made a gesture to give the floor to him and sat down beside Turpin. The commander hadn't gotten a chance yesterday to give any kind of welcome speech, not after Luthor had taken over the floor. They were a little pressed for time, so she hoped that it would indeed only be a few words.

Commander Friedland cleared his throat and stood a little straighter, trying to look like he wasn't using a cane for balance.

"I think some of you know me, but for those of you who don't, I'm Gray Friedland, former commander of the Major Crimes Unit. My transfer to the Special Crimes Unit came a little _-_ \- unexpectedly, but I'm looking forward to the new challenge.

"This department is entirely unique in its challenges. You veteran members know this better than anyone and us rookies are certainly in for a wild ride." He flashed that toothy smile at Royer, McLaughlin, Chidester, and Giacoia. "The SCU has the most important role in the entirety of the Met PD: the suppression of metahumans and the protection of Metropolis from them. I can't tell you enough how important this department is, or how honored I am to now be a part of it."

Out of the corner of Maggie's eye, she saw Turpin's neutral expression flicker. Down the table, Jones's visible hand slowly curled into a loose fist. There was something a tad wrong with Commander Friedland's statement, but she didn't have the time to put her finger on it before the man continued speaking.

"However, the SCU has experienced too many upsets that have disrupted its work ethic and decreased its efficiency. This team is not what it used to be and it has faltered due to inconsistent leadership. There are simply too many metahumans running wild, freely using their powers and terrorizing the citizens of Metropolis. We need to take steps to nip this epidemic in the bud before it grows too big to be put down quickly. Now that I'm directly a part of this fight, I vow that I will help make the SCU a tighter, more efficient team than ever before!"

He paused expectantly, like he was waiting for an applause, but not a single hand lifted off the table or coffee cups. Instead, they stared him in silence. Maggie felt that this silence was more of a stunned one than an awed one.

Had he just implied everything she thought he had?

Turpin nudged his foot against her leg.

"Thank you _-_ -" Maggie blurted out quickly. Her brain jammed into Public Relations mode. There was something very very wrong with everthing he had just said, but she would have to wait until later to figure it out. "Commander Friedland, for those inspirational words. I am looking forward to working with you."

The commander nodded, easing himself into the nearest seat.

"Now, speaking of things needing to be taken care of before they get too big," the lieutenant went on. "Our new kids on the block need to be caught up on the current situation. First _-_ \- Lyle, could you _-_ -"

"Got it." Lyle's hands flew across the touch-screen in front of him, bringing up all the relevant files. With what looked like nothing more than a sharp sweeping gesture, he sent the information to every active screen. The image of the Hellgrammite and the updated case file appeared on Maggie's screen, as it did everyone else's.

There was an immediate reaction from the rookies. Royer shoved himself away from the table with a "Jeezus Christ!". Giacoia sat up, his expression instantly nauseated. McLaughlin's reaction was more controlled thanks to his five years in SWAT, but his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. Chidester's jaw flat out dropped.

"Wait 'til you kids see it in person." Colletta commented.

"That, kids, is the Hellgrammite." Maggie said. "More importantly, that's Daddy Hellgrammite and he's probably even bigger by now.

"Two Mondays ago, on the twelth, we received a Code Veitch _-_ \- meaning that the crime scene is too weird to be explained _-_ \- from the college campus. Officer Harper and I took this one. When we got there, we were treated to the sight of a pile of human skin."

Lyle sent out the image and the rookies' recoil was even more pronounced.

"Fuck!" Giacoia burst out. He glanced up the table. "Sorry Lieutenant, but what the _hell is that_?!"

"Unfortunately, it's exactly what it looks like." Maggie assured him. "If you want any specifics, Mr. Coleman over there did the all the forensic tests on it. But that little mess was found in the lab belonging to entomologist Roderick Rose. Mr. Rose has been missing since the sixth."

"Wait," Chidester held up a hand. "Are you tellin' me _-_ \- all of us _-_ \- that that bug-thing and the bug guy is _-_ -"

She couldn't finish, but slapped a hand over her mouth instead.

"The same guy? Technically, no. We have no concrete evidence of that." Maggie admitted. "But even the circumstantial evidence works out too neatly. Coleman, your turn."

Mitch cleared his throat importantly. "Mr. Rose was working for both LexCorp and Future World Industries on independent ventures using bugs. LexCorp wanted some all-terrain mobile exoskeleton type thing and Future World was going after medical advances." he explained. "From what I could get out of his notes, Mr. Rose was looking to start testing this formula that might slow the advance of cancer without chemo treatment."

"Whoa, like a cure for cancer?" Officer Mills wondered.

"Maybe the early stages of one." Mitch shrugged. He hadn't found anything to suggest a flat-out cure, but certainly a treatment that was easier on the body than chemo. "I'm not entirely sure what went down between him and Future World _-_ \- his personal notes get a little fragmented. They must have turned down the proposal and he ended up testing the formula on himself and... we think he turned into that."

"Where's the formula now?" Commander Friedland asked.

Mitch shook his head. "There's nothing left of it. Whatever he syringed into himself was all he made."

"Could you recreate it?" Maggie asked. "If we got you everything you needed, is there a chance you could recreate it?"

"I think I'd need at least five more years of study before I could." Mitch admitted. "As it is, the formula is almost impossible to understand. I don't recognize almost seventy-five percent of the chemical compounds. I mean, maybe they're enzymes and one of these sort of looks like methylene blue _-_ -"

"What's that?" Commander Friedland interrupted.

"Methylene blue? Uh, it can be used either as a medical dye, in chemo treatments, or to treat cynanide poisoning." the forensic analyst explained. "It makes sense to me. If he was trying to bypass chemo, he'd start with the stuff that isn't going to make your hair fall out. He was definitely on to something with the formula though; I don't think the hard-drive would have been so heavily encrypted otherwise."

There was a nod of general agreement from around the table. Any scientist worth their salt knew to protect their research. Any scientist who was on the verge of a medical break-through would go the extra mile.

"As I was saying, the jury is still out on whether or not Daddy Hellgrammite is Roderick Rose. At this point, even _I'm_ not sure it still matters." Maggie said, picking up where she had left off. "Daddy Hellgrammite grew five feet in a few days, eaten four people, and he has already reproduced twice. They're strong, they're big, and this may not even be their final form."

The veterans knew this, but the look of horror on the rookies' faces was very nearly comical.

"Lieutenant, what are you implying?" Commander Friedland asked, his voice soft.

" _A_ hellgrammite is an existing insect. It's the larval form of a dobsonfly. We're calling them hellgrammites because they resemble one." Maggie explained. "As much as we are desperately praying that these are their adult forms, there's still a possibility that they could pupate."

"The reservoir has been cordoned off and we've received no reports that any of the three Hellgrammites have left the area," Turpin put in, looking at the commander as he said this. Underneath the table, however, he knocked the side of his foot into Maggie's leg again. "But it won't be very long before they go further afield looking for bigger food."

"And we need to get this taken care of before then." Maggie said. Under the table, she returned the gesture, acknowledging Turpin's silent request. "I'm aware that we'll be running in with little to no information _again_ , but we can't afford to keep waiting. Mills, McLaughlin, Chidester, you three have the SWAT training. We need a battle plan."

Mills frowned. "Now?"

"Not right away, but by tonight at the earliest." the lieutenant corrected. "Something that's going to survive contact with the enemy. Flexible, with multiple options. And Commander Friedland," She turned to him with a smile that edged a little too closely to predatory. "We've had a few new reports of metahumans in the city. Perhaps you'd like to dispatch the detectives? To get a feel for things."

"Oh, it would be my pleasure, Lieutenant." Commander Friedland nodded, looking a bit too pleased to have the task.

"Thank you." Maggie said pleasantly, pushing her chair back and standing up. "Detective Turpin, I believe you wanted to have a word with me in private."

"That would be correct." Turpin followed her lead, standing up.

They left the conference room as Commander Friedland started to review the most recently arrived reports and went back down the corridor to her office. Turpin shut the door behind him and turned to the lieutenant with an expression that was somewhere between shocked and terrified.

"Did you hear that man?" he asked, eyes wide. "Did you hear what he said? _-_ -"

"I heard him, Dan."

"That sonuvabitch! Inconsistent leadership my ass! He's not talking about Jase! He's talking about _you_!"

"I know." Maggie said. Commander Friedland was not a man who spoke ill of the dead. Especially not of cops who died in the line of duty.

"Maggie, he's insulting you!" Turpin said, wholly offended on her behalf. "He's shitting on everything you've done in this department over the last three years! I can't tell if it's the gay thing, the boob thing, or the metahuman thing."

"Little from columns A and B, but it's mostly column C." the lieutenant told him. She was used to being underestimated and passed over for being a woman. And though she had never really 'come out' within the department, a surprisingly large number of people knew or suspected she had a girlfriend and didn't have any fucks to give over it.

Turpin frowned. "How is it the metahuman thing?"

"You know how he said that part about metahumans running wild and terrorizing the city when we've had maybe three actually doing that? How he called it an epidemic?" Maggie prompted, leaning against her desk. "Well, that's pretty much the rhetoric the Joes spewed back in the day."

"Joes?"

"The anti-metahuman groups; they called themselves 'Joes'. They liked words like 'epidemic' and 'terrorize' and 'crisis'. Me and Todd would pass rallies on our way home from school until our parents started picking us up. We stopped and listened to a few speeches. They sounded just like Commander Friedland. A lot of blaming the government leaders for inaction, talk about the metahuman epidemic and the terrorized citizens, and about taking matters into their own hands."

Turpin's frowned deepened and he muttered something in Yiddish that Maggie was sure was very uncomplimentary. Then he turned to her and inquired: "Violently?"

Maggie shrugged. "I remember it took two years to build to that point, but that _was_ with several prior years of mounting tensions."

"Might take even less time if they decide to start up again." Turpin predicted, both troubled and thoughtful. "I bet half the posturing from back then was them trying to figure out what was going to get the biggest reaction, but they got the formula now. They could do it again and they could do it in half the time."

"You think there could be another Scare?"

The idea made Maggie deeply uncomfortable. She had already moved through the fringes of one. All of the major coastal cities, east and west, had been a hotbed of civil protest and lynch mobs, and Star City had been no exception. In the last year, the sound of sirens had become background noise. There was no place in the city where the police hadn't been parked out, chirping the sirens and honking the horns to get people to move along, move along, nothing to see here. The normally quiet and law-abiding neighborhood where Maggie had grown up had turned into a battle zone one evening. She remembered people just _pouring_ out of nowhere with everything from rocks and sticks to handguns and rifles. Her family and several of their neighbors had hunkered down in the root cellar all night.

By the time it had all come apart, Star City's scars were long and prominent. The Glades hadn't been the same since.

Turpin looked similarly uncomfortable with the idea, but it didn't run as deep. He didn't have the same background, having been born and raised right here in Metropolis. There had been _some_ protesting, he recalled, but it was like everyone had been reluctant to really disturb the peace. They had simply stood around Centennial Park with signs, did some chanting, and dispersed when the police asked them to.

"Suppose it's up to us to make sure the gas doesn't leak here in Metropolis." Turpin commented gruffly. "We're definitely gonna need more people, Mags."

The lieutenant nodded. "I'll add it to my list of things to shout at the commissioner about."

Commander Friedland might have been an old and trusted face on the Met P.D., but he was also nearly as old as the late Captain Jase and he had served on the force just as long. And he hadn't started in Metropolis, no, Gray Friedland was a Gotham boy at heart. He had come out the Scare's fires in that city, fresh horrors imprinted on the back of his retinas.

Though he claimed that he had left behind Gotham and all its ills, there was two things about him that were certain: He had been through the Scare as a police officer in the worst American city where police corruption was a fact of life, and none of them knew which side he had been on.

Or whether or not it made any difference.

* * *

-0-


	12. Battle Plans

Oh gosh the end in sight. I can practically _smell_ the closing paragraphs on the Flash origin story I'm so close. I've pulled out story notes I scribbled down _four years ago_. Yes, technically speaking, I started writing the Flash story back in 2013. Long hiatus, rewrite, and now here we are.

Ideal finale deadline: Late next week. Realistic finale deadline: Closer to Halloween.

* * *

Chapter Twelve: Battle Plan

"I can't see a damn thing out here." Jim complained.

" _Me neither._ " Chidester hissed, her voice scratchy through the detective's earpiece. " _This is a bad plan. I can't believe I helped come up with this horrible plan._ "

" _Shut your traps, both of you, and stay alert!_ " Turpin ordered impatiently. " _We don't want the asshat trio fallin' in out of nowhere and eating you both!_ "

Chidester made a grumbling noise that was audible through the earpiece, but didn't say anything more. For his part, Jim sank back until he could lean against the tree, his legs protesting the extended stay in the crouched position. The winter-dry twigs tugged on his coat, brown leaves crinkling around him. He brushed them away impatiently.

It _was_ a bad plan, but when they had evaluated it against all of the other plans that they had come up with, it had proven to be the only one with a marginal chance at success. He couldn't remember which plan it was, but it was somewhere around M.

The plan was simple. Lure the Hellgrammites, one at a time, into three separate ambushes.

It was complicated in its simplicity, for how much had the potential to go very, _very_ wrong. Like, opened arteries and exposed entrails painful death wrong. There were just too many variables out of their control. Because in order for the plan to work, someone had to be bait. At least two someones. The fastest runners among them.

Chidester was so fresh off her SWAT training that she hadn't lost any of her conditioning. A one hundred meter dash in less than fifteen seconds. And Jim Gordon was the only one among them who was in the habit of regularly running two miles every morning. They were both fast and they both had the stamina to maintain the speed that would keep them ahead of the Hellgrammites.

It was such a bad plan.

Jim still couldn't see a damn thing.

They were back up near the reservoir. Satellite imagery and the reports from the sentries had assured them that the Three Assholes hadn't made any run at the police cordon. Rather, they had seemed quite content to shuffle through the woods around the amphitheatre and sports fields. A few daring and brave souls had further reported that the Hellgrammites were not feasting on fluffy woodland creatures but instead systematically stripping bark from the trees and eating that instead.

 _I guess even giant man-eating bugs need to meet their fiber intake._ Jim thought. The tree behind him was one of the trees that had been thoroughly stripped of its bark, starting three feet up from the base and a further eight feet up the trunk.

The other big issue that he was having with the plan was not just the part where he was bait, but the fact that he was bait _and_ out in the middle of the very dark woods on the blackest night of the month without a flashlight or night-vision goggles or even a pocketbook of matches.

The lack of flashlight made sense; it would give him away and it was more likely that he would drop it. Not that he wouldn't kill for a heavy truck-proof mag-light that doubled as solid bludgeon.

But no night-vision goggles? Realistically, the Met P.D. could have spared a pair or two for this operation, but Jim knew better by now. This was the SCU. Regardless of what they were up against and the severity thereof, they were still considered a joke.

They were almost in a position no better than the last time. The new members had only brought their numbers back up to the place they had been at two weeks ago, rather than surpassing it. Commander Friedland's bum knee meant that he was permanently off of any field-work. Mitch and Lyle still didn't have the necessary training for field-work, and Jim didn't think Lieutenant Sawyer would take any active steps to correct that. Sergeant Escudero had the training, but her position as their only radio operator made her too valuable to go into the field.

On one level, Jim thought they were doing pretty okay for what they had.

But they could be doing a lot better.

He knew that from his time in Major Crimes. Many of the SCU's existing procedures mimicked the MCU's closely enough that making the transition between departments had been smooth and easy. He knew what sort of equipment they should have had with them tonight. There should have been a squad of fifty people in the woods alone, moving north in a steady line to flush the Hellgrammites out of the brush and drive them into the ambush points. All three at the same time, to minimize the chances of even a single one escaping the net.

Instead, there had to be bait to _lead_ the Hellgrammites into the ambushes separately because they could only take one at a time. They'd had to raid the SWAT armory without permission to get the other set of guns that were vital to the plan; Lieutenant Sawyer was sure to hear of it in the morning. Two in the woods, three holed up in the van on monitor duty, Commander Friedland at home in bed, and the other ten praying to their respective deities that they didn't blow this.

Half of this was being done without full authorization or full knowledge from their superiors.

Certainly, they were doing this without full support. The lack of a safety net was very disconcerting for Jim.

His only reassuring consolation buzzed through the air about a hundred meters away; a black-painted drone that was being operated by Lyle from the safer confines of the van. There was a second one hanging out above Chidester's head. Mitch and Sergeant Escudero had an eye on both monitors.

The drones didn't even belong to the department; Lyle had borrowed them from a fellow tech nerd (on the condition that the footage could eventually find its way out to the public).

They couldn't get Superman this time. Or that was what Lieutenant Sawyer had claimed. Jim suspected that the lieutenant hadn't wanted Superman this time, considering how _helpful_ he had been last time.

But to be fair, the man had a life of his own. Bills to pay, groceries to buy, laundry to fold, maybe a fish to feed. Even for its purported glory, superheroing had never actually come with a paycheck. The Justice Society had been funded independently during the post-war period, pretty much surviving entirely off the generous percentage of the merchandise proceeds. All the members of Infinity Inc had been employed in other jobs. The Seven Soldiers had stayed afloat because of their leader's financial affluency.

Superheroes didn't get paid for doing the right thing. Historically, they had never asked for payment.

He doubted that Superman would be any different.

" _Detective Gordon?_ " Escudero's voice hissed softly in his ear. " _Are you still there?_ "

"Haven't been eaten yet." Jim replied, hearing the muffled sniggering from everyone on the line. "Would have heard the screaming already."

" _That could change._ " Escudero commented dryly. " _I've got a visual on both Hellgrammites. By the way, Maggie, I think they're all grown up now. I would estimate a full length of fifteen feet with a body diameter of three feet. Maybe three and a half to four._ "

Someone whistled softly into their microphone, but most of the others muttered curses.

" _Christ, that's huge._ " Lieutenant Sawyer half-whispered. " _Location?_ "

" _The one nearest to Officer Chidester is still too far away to be any trouble. Three hundred yards, best guess. It's getting its daily fiber intake._ " Escudero reported. " _Detective Gordon, you've got the second one about seventy meters off to your right, at your four o'clock. You need to make some noise and get its attention._ "

Two simultaneous urges got tangled up in Jim's brain _-_ \- to bellow out an incredulous 'what' and to stay completely silent. The second urge won out for the first few seconds.

"You want me to do **what**?" he whisper-hissed.

" _Make some noise._ " Escudero repeated. " _It needs to follow you into the ambush. It's not going to do that if you don't get its attention first_."

" _You're bait, detective._ " Lieutenant Sawyer reminded him, much to his ongoing dismay. " _Now start looking appetizing._ "

Jim covered his face with his hands in lieu of doing anything else. It was such a stupid plan and he couldn't believe that he had _willingly_ volunteered for this. Actually put his hand in the air and offered himself up on a silver platter just because he knew that his running times were second to none.

Stupid.

He normally didn't have moments of ill judgement like that.

If he didn't come home after tonight, Ellie was going to murder him.

 _Well, if I'm bait, I guess it's time to start reeling the asshole in_.

Jim got to his feet, letting the back of his coat scrap against the stripped tree as he stood. The action produced a satisfyingly loud noise. He wasn't sure how far it would carry, but it was otherwise dead silent in this part of the woods. He started to move away from the Hellgrammite's position, towards where he remembered passing the tree line. He could see a little bit, in the sense of broad outlines so he didn't walk headfirst into any trees, but he certainly couldn't avoid stepping on the dry twigs and other dead-fall wood that littered the ground.

He was supposed to be making noise, but it was hair-raising doing so while knowing exactly what was lurking seventy meters away.

Seventy meters was a fair distance, but he did have an idea just how fast these fuckers could move. It might be seventy meters away _right now_ , but once it caught wind of him, it might be on top of him by the time he hit the treeline.

Every brittle twig and dead leaf from last year seemed to get under Jim's feet with every step. His progress towards the tree line was riddled with cracks and snaps and crunches. He half listened to the instructions that Sergeant Escudero was giving Chidester, about making noise to get the other Hellgrammite's attention. It sounded like Asshole Number Two was content to stay where it was, munching tree bark.

Chidester snorted audibly into her mic. " _I'm going to have to throw a rock at it, aren't I..._ "

" _Just lay low._ " Lieutenant Sawyer instructed, interrupting. " _We shouldn't bring both of them into the ambush at the same time anyways. It's going to be a challenge enough dealing with one of them._ "

"If it's not moving, count yourself lucky." Jim put in, rolling his eyes. "Sergeant, how am I doing?"

" _You must sound delicious. You've got serious movement coming up fifty meters behind you. It's got wind of you, Detective._ " Escudero informed him. The words were enough to send an unsettled prickle down his spine. " _From the way it's moving, it may try to outflank you or get ahead of you. Where are you going? I can't see you very well under the trees; you're too small._ "

"I'm heading for the tree line." Jim explained. He wanted to get out from underneath the trees, where the drone could see him. Being out in the open might increase his chances of being eaten, but at least he wouldn't smack head-first off a trunk.

" _Aren't there bike paths nearby?_ " Escudero asked, her voice fainter like she was leaning away from the mic. There was a fainter reply from Lyle; he wasn't hooked up with a mic.

"Should I stay on the bike paths?" Jim wondered. It was definitely easier to run on concrete or hard-packed dirt than grass.

" _No, stay off of them. Straight lines are faster._ " the sergeant ordered. She made a humming noise. " _Detective, it's coming around from your left and closing fast. Run!_ "

Jim sprang into motion even before Escudero barked the order. He had heard the swift rushing sound of many feet making tracks through the dry grass and now the adrenaline poured into his blood. In an instant, it seemed like he could see better; the dull outlines of the tree trunks and the low slung branches suddenly sharpening. The divots in the uneven ground appeared to come in broader relief.

Just like that, he could actually see a damn thing.

The detective cleared the tree line in less time than he expected, emerging from the cover of the bare, interlocking branches to hear the distant whine of the drone. Sergeant Escudero hissed something into his ear, but he barely made out the words over the sound of a tea kettle screech behind him.

The Hellgrammite.

Jim didn't dare glance over his shoulder to see how close behind it was. The sound of its body crunching through the old-growth underbrush gave him some idea how close it was, but he didn't want to see that with his own two eyes.

He just ran.

It wasn't until he passed some signage that he realized that he was going the wrong way.

They had traced out a route from the wooded area to the ambush site that wasn't hard to traverse, but also wasn't a straight line. If the Hellgrammite came up from the wrong side, better the chances that it would notice the SCU members lying in wait and then the plan would be a bust.

Jim was heading for a picnic area, rather than the play area that was marked on the map. He turned as sharply as he could without breaking stride or momentum and came face to face with the Hellgrammite.

 _Whoa nelly look at that beast!_

It was no prettier than the one he had encountered back at Fort LaBelle. It had all the same proportions; the bulging red eyes, the mantis-shaped head, the quad-jointed arms with the grasping taloned fingers, and the clicking mandibles. It seemed to rear back in surprise at the detective's sudden turn. The eighteen legs gouged into the dirt and in the second that it was fully in Jim's line of sight, he saw it struggling to make the turn just as sharply. But it was simply too big for that, its forward momentum too much. It practically sailed past the spot where he had stopped, various limbs flailing, screeching its tea kettle screech. Jim was already sprinting well away from it, opening an appreciable gap between it and him by the time beast finally managed to heave its body into the turn.

"C'mon! Keep up with me!"Jim taunted, waving an arm. "C'mon! My lungs are still coated in tar!"

Well, not so much anymore. Ellie had him on a diet that now included lots of dark green leafy vegetables and vitamin E supplements, as per the doctor's suggestions. Lots of water, plenty of fresh air and exercise and water, and he had improved drastically in just six months.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Hellgrammite still pulling itself around in a wide circle, the back end swinging outwards while the arms went the other way for counterbalance. It reminded Jim of... _something-_ \- Actually the comparison was escaping him right now. Just something that was too long and not entirely suited for life on dry land.

The Hellgrammite let out its tea kettle shriek and straightened out, resuming the chase.

Jim pushed himself to run faster, legs pumping double time. He sprinted across the grass and over the raised bike trails and foot paths. The trees were widely spaced and the ground had been trampled flat by years of people walking around. He didn't have too far to go; a quarter mile, at most. It just happened to be a roundabout path over terrain he wasn't familiar with. In the dark.

 _What'd I call the SCU, a learning experience? Right, learning experience where I learn how to not get eaten by a humanitarian._

Provided he lived through this, he was also going to find the time to have words with the commissioner.

This was dangerous and they shouldn't have been forced to do it like this.

Between his heartbeat loud in his ears and the teak kettle shrieks chasing after him, it took him another moment to realize that he was being shouted at the through the earpiece. Lieutenant Sawyer's voice was loud and slightly frantic.

" _-_ - _need a location! Jim! Where are you?!_ " she was bellowing by the time he tuned back in.

"Sorry! Got turned around!" Jim huffed. "Good news though! They can't corner for shit!"

" _Where are you?!_ " Lieutenant Sawyer demanded again.

"Two or three minutes away, tops!" Jim replied, as he sprinted past the furrowed rows of a flower garden.

" _Where's the Hellgrammite?_ "

He glanced over his shoulder.

"It's right on my ass!"

It was _way too close_ for his comfort. Not so close that it could snatch at him with those taloned fingers of its, but still way too close. Its rattling shrieks rang in his ears and through his head. His eardrums were going to be pounding for days.

But six months smoke-free and an increased activity level was paying off. Weariness was far from setting into his limbs. He felt like he could run a full mile in seven minutes. It was so easy to breathe, his strides so much swifter. The night air was so crisp and cool and he was barely sweating. He could have been on one of his early morning runs, were it not for the screeching monster behind him.

The pre-determined play area loomed out of the midnight gloom, the big jungle gym looking like a tangled mess of ropes and platforms and tubes. Jim banged through the swing-set with Hellgrammite on his heels. He beat a path past the monkey bars and made an arc around the merry-go-round, skidding through the wood mulch. This once again brought the Hellgrammite directly into his line of sight. It skittered past his position, the turn still too tight for it to make, and headed up around the jungle gym like it was going to get behind him. Jim pelted away off the play area.

The sports fields were just up ahead.

The baseball diamond in particular.

That was where the ambush was to be sprung.

"Thirty seconds!" he shouted into the mic.

" _Be ready! He's nearly there!"_ came Sergeant Escudero's voice.

" _Squad up!_ " Lieutenant Sawyer commanded.

Jim imagined the shifting stances, the guns being lifted, hands carefully placed, and prayed that it would all go off without a hitch. There had been no time to even try and rehearse this. No dry run. They had to make it count the first time.

A chain-link fence separated the baseball field from the rest of the sports fields. Jim hit the fence running and clambered over all seven feet of it easily. He dropped down to the other side in a crouch and sprinted across the out-field. He didn't slow down until he reached the base-line, his breath starting to come more heaving. The SCU was lurking hidden in the dug-outs near the in-field; if he squinted just slightly, he could see the outlines of their heads.

"Get ready _-_ -" he started to say.

" _Detective, it didn't follow you in._ " Sergeant Escudero interrupted.

"What?" Jim turned on the spot and saw nothing but a dark empty outfield behind him.

" _It didn't follow you in. It saw the fence, but it didn't go over."_ Escudero said. " _It's heading south-east around the fence. Stay low, everyone. I think it's going to circle the field._ " There was a murmur from her end of the line, and then she added: " _Lyle thinks that_ _ **it**_ _thinks that you're trapped._ "

Jim shrugged. That made some sense, he supposed. According to Detective Jones, these things were intelligent and capable of reasoning, but within the capacity of the average second-grader. That might have made the Hellgrammite as clever as a crow, but these bastards were driven more by their bellies than their brains.

His eyes skimmed around the edge of the field, but he couldn't see anything beyond the fence line. In the silence, he thought he might have heard the sound of its eighteen legs rushing through the grass, but even that might have been the wind. The Hellgrammite had even quit its shrieking.

"Sergeant, where is it? I can't see anything out there." he whispered.

" _It's heading around the field. Keep your back to home base, Gordon. Let it think that it has the upper hand._ " Escudero suggested.

 _Oh, great..._ Jim thought, rolling his eyes.

He fought the urge to turn around and made it look like he was still scanning the out-field. It was vitally important to fake the Hellgrammite out; if they didn't get it now, it would scamper off and they didn't have another plan. He knew the rest of the team was behind him, but that didn't stop the prickling feeling from going up his spine.

Jim shifted a step or two his right and allowed his wandering gaze to settle on a point about halfway down the fence-line, acting as though he had seen movement. He slipped a hand into his coat, for the reassuring weight of the gun.

" _It's coming up. Right-hand dug-out._ " Escudero said. She was whispering now too. " _Why is it backing up? Is it going to jump? Ay Dios mio, I think it's going to jump... There it goes!_ "

It was the only sort of warning Jim received before he heard the slithering ***crunch*** of a ponderous body hitting something wooden and the scratch of claws. The detective whirled around to see the large form of the Hellgrammite heaving itself down off the top of the dug-out. Those red eyes glittered even in what little light there was. The beast hissed, dragging itself all the way to the ground. The last few feet of it hit the damp dirt with a meaty thump.

Jim was ashamed to admit that he froze, even knowing full well that the team was so nearby and ready to act. But the Hellgrammite hit every synapse in his lizard brain, the ones that screamed _danger danger_ and sent his fight-or-flight response running wild, but flooded the relays so much he could barely think about running.

The Hellgrammite swayed forward, its entire body moving in a sinuous motion. Its taloned fingers tapped against each other, its teeth clicked. The hissing had replaced its tea kettle shrieks. It didn't really have a facial expression, but there was something about the set of its mouth and eyes that seemed to suggest satisfaction and anticipation.

"Any time now, Lieutenant." Jim whispered, ready to pull his gun if needed.

The Hellgrammite closed the gap to uncomfortable levels and he started stepping back in response.

" _Easy, Gordon. On my mark._ " Lieutenant Sawyer instructed the team. " _Ready. Three, two, one, lights._ "

There was a distant sound like a small pop, but Jim was already pulling the lapels of his coat over his eyes and throwing himself out of the way. The field lights didn't so much as flicker to life as they erupted with a shiver of eletricity. Bright white light flooded the baseball diamond, fifteen hundred watts per bulb. Night all but turned into day.

The Hellgrammite shrieked, thrashing its arms as though the light was something physical it could beat off.

Maggie Sawyer rose up from her hiding place in the dug-out, the M16 balanced on her hip. Her long coat settled into place around her knees and she whipped the sunglasses off her face.

"Batter up!" she shouted.

The rest of the SCU emerged, all manner of sunglasses coming off and the guns came up. Only four of them were M16s. The rest of them were cable-launchers. With harpoon-like hooks intended to sink several inches deep into solid concrete. Deep enough to securely hold the dead weight of a man.

If they were going to bring down the Hellgrammite down successfully, they needed to hold it down.

The cable guns fired with a burst of compressed air, the harpoon-tips lancing across the field with a whining noise. Dazzled as it was by the field lights, the Hellgrammite didn't even see them to dodge. Even with all its thrashing, only one of the harpoon-tips actually missed their target. The rest pierced through the beast's thick hide. A greenish ichor spewed from each puncture site, as thick as sap and accompanied by a powerful smell of organic decay; a mixture of rotted vegetation and rotted animal bits. The Hellgrammite screamed its tea kettle shriek and yanked against the lines.

"Brace yourselves! Don't give it any slack!" Maggie ordered. "Royer! Reel that in and fire again! Gordon, join the party!"

Feet were braced against the low concrete wall of the dug-out, arms straining against every yank and jerk the Hellgrammite made. Royer hit the retract lever so he could fire again and Jim scrambled back to a safer distance. The gun he extracted from his coat was not his SIG, but a cable gun of his own. He backed up until he was level with third base, dug his heels into the ground, then aimed and fired.

He didn't get the upper body; the Hellgrammite turned too suddenly, dragging half the SCU out of the dug-outs. His line missed its intended target, but speared into the beast's lower body instead.

"Shit! Reel it up! Pull those lines tight! McLaughlin! Mills! We're up!" Maggie roared. "Royer! For god's sake! If you can't make a shot on an ass that big, trade off with Harper!"

She sprinted out of the dug-out past the team-mates who had been dragged to the ground, as they struggled to get back up. Royer had missed again _-_ \- she was starting to see why patrol had been so quick to get rid of him.

James grabbed the cable launcher from Royer's hand and shoved the already secured line into the junior officer's hand.

"Keep it tight! Don't let go!" he snapped. "You let this slack for even a micro-second, people could die! You got that?!"

"Y-Yeah!" Royer nodded his head furiously.

Seeing the younger man's knuckles turn white almost the same instant his hands clapped around the launcher, James rushed around the far side of the Hellgrammite's thrashing body, dodging past his fellow SCU mates while they worked to keep the creature from getting too far. It oddly resembled the strangest sprint around a maypole, except that the maypole was trying to sprint as well and the runners were trying to keep it steady, yanking this way and that on their lines.

"Jimmy! How are we doing back here?!" James called out as he approached the detective.

"'Bout as well as can be expected, Jimmy!" Jim retorted. His arms were shaking with the effort of trying to hold the Hellgrammite's ass-end steady. His lungs were in good shape, but his arms were a slightly different matter.

"Good angle! Keep 'er still for a moment!" James requested, though he knew that wouldn't be possible. Jim was weaving back and forth as it was.

He shoved the harpoon back into the barrel, checked that the cable was coiled properly, and took his aim carefully. Most of the Hellgrammite's thrashing was coming from the upper body, but it kept translating down into the lower body. James tracked the movement back and forth for a second and then fired.

He blinked the moment the harpoon made contact, but a second screech and the line going taut told him that he had hit it dead-center and his eyes confirmed it. The harpoon had dug deep into the Hellgrammite's flesh, halfway down the shaft. Green ichor spurted from the new wound, accompanied by the smell. Somehow, it was even worse than before.

"Ugh! It's like that thing's rotting from the inside out!" James complained, his eyes watering. "Why does it smell worse back here?!"

"I think we're downwind!" Jim shrugged.

"Not for long!" James declared, yanking his line tight. His enhanced strength pulled the Hellgrammite off its back two sets of legs and the thing flailed, shrieking. "Lieutenant! Get that thing before it gasses us back here!"

Maggie hefted the M16 up to her shoulder. "You heard the man!" she shouted at Mills, McLaughlin, and Turpin. "Eyes and mouth, boys! Let's get this thing done!"

The other team members dragged harder on their lines, trying to hold the beast still so their gunmen could have a less flailing target. McLaughlin licked his lips, trying to hide his nerves. Two days on the new job and he already had one hell of a challenge in front of him. He was a good trick shooter, but this wasn't something he had done before.

"Hey you!" Maggie shouted at the Hellgrammite. "Hey Ugly McFuckface! Look at me!"

As if it understood her, the thing turned its head to face her directly, its jaws parted and unhinged to display a mouthful of sharp, needle-pointed teeth that went all the way to the back and down the throat out of sight.

Maggie fired.

Three more guns echoed her.

She didn't see her bullet impact; the Hellgrammite's mouth lurched shut. But the multifaceted eyes suddenly burst in a mixture of ichor and reddish optical fluid and the creature threw its head back with a keening wail that grated on their eardrums. The wail tapered off almost as quickly as it had started and a spasm jerked down its back. The Hellgrammite leaned, its massive body drifting towards one side. Taloned fingers twitched and the area that passed for its chest swelled visibly outwards as though it was going to burst. It deflated just as suddenly and a breath of air puffed out of its gaping mouth.

Without another sound, the Hellgrammite collapsed.

It was somehow anti-climactic. Maggie didn't know if she had been expecting a death wail or for its body to self-combust, but maybe not for the Hellgrammite to die so quietly.

But it was dead.

"Damn." Officer Mills said, breaking the breathless silence. "Which bullet do you think did it?"

"I say we got at least two in its brain." McLaughlin commented. He glanced at the lieutenant. "I think we should put in one more. Just to be sure."

"Just to be sure." Maggie agreed, gesturing him forward.

McLaughlin stepped forward with a bit of a swagger, but cautiously nonetheless. The Hellgrammite didn't so much as twitch when he put the barrel of the M16 to its head, execution style. There was a ***bang!*** and the rifle jerked back with the recoil. Then he turned back around and spread his arms like he was going to take a bow.

"Got it!" he said, raising a fist triumphantly. In response, there was some cheering and a patter of applause, accompanied by whistles and sighs of relief.

"Alright, pull those pig-stickers out and clean 'em off. We'll need them for the next two." Maggie ordered. One down, but still two to go.

The SCU moved forward, excitedly sharing their observations of the moment, nudging the Hellgrammite to make sure it didn't react. The lieutenant turned her microphone back on. "Sergeant, we got the bastard."

" _I heard._ "

"What's the status on the other two?"

" _Papa Hellgrammite is still nowhere to be seen. Thing Two is on the move, but it's moving away. Chidester is going to have follow it._ "

" _Great..._ " Chidester mumbled.

"Well, you'd better stay on its ass." Maggie told the rookie. "We'll need at least fifteen minutes to set up the next ambush, so you might have to play cat-and-mouse with it."

From the silence alone, she could tell that Chidester was despising the plan with every fiber of her being. It was a bad one; Maggie wasn't afraid to admit that. But they had to make do with their limited resources.

"And Chidester, if you need to bail out, I'll send Gordon back in." the lieutenant added.

 _ ***SCREEEEEE!***_

The bone-chilling screech sent jagged spikes dragging down everyone's spine. As one, the team twisted around sharply to face the direction it had come from, staring with wide eyes and somewhat fearful expressions.

"What the hell was that?!" Sergeant Kesel demanded.

"Train?" Steve guessed, though it was clear from his tone that he was just making a random shot in the dark.

"That came from north of the reservoir." Colletta shook her head. "There are no trains north of the reservoir. Hell, there's barely paved roads."

A second screech echoed up out of the south-west, roughly where they knew Thing Two to be.

Then silence.

Maggie's gaze slid down to the corpse in front of them and a sudden chill fanned out across her back.

"Oh... Daddy's checking in with the kids."

And he was an answer short.

* * *

-0-


	13. Double Down

It's still Friday on my end. Voltron happened.

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: Double Down

Maggie's blood ran cold for a few reasons, not the least of which being that they were about to be in quite a lot of trouble in very short order. Daddy Hellgrammite had just called out to the kids, but only one of them had responded.

The SCU had just killed the other one.

Her eyes darted down to the Hellgrammite's corpse sprawled out on the ground, not even starting to cool. Green ichor was oozing out from around the harpoons and some manner of drool slid out of its gaping mouth in twisting strings. Both of its eyes had been busted out and there was a bullet somewhere in the back of its throat, and at least three in its brain. Limbs splayed awkwardly, post-mortem twitches spasming through its fingers, not a whisper of breath in its body. It was dead. Thoroughly, unmistakably, unequivocally dead.

She looked up at her team, every face managing to look both terrified and guilty, like they had been caught snitching a few dollars from the pizza fund. This wasn't the scene of a crime, but it might as well have been. Both of the Hellgrammites were bound to come looking for their comrade sooner as opposed to later and what they would find... It would be like a murder scene to them.

Maggie's mind whirred into overdrive, but nothing useful came out. It was a panicked blur of half-formed thoughts all tinged by a sense of hysteria and foreboding. She felt like they were trapped and she had no idea how to get them out of this new mess. All she knew was that the SCU couldn't be caught here. Not out here in the open where they didn't have the advantage of surprise.

" _Holy shit!_ "

Chidester's shocked voice rang through their earpieces, making them about jump right out of their skins.

"What?! What's going on?!" Maggie demanded, grabbing the microphone clipped to her coat collar. "Chidester! Talk to me! Tell me what's going on! Are you all right?!"

" _I'm okay, but Thing Two just blew right by me!_ " Chidester reported breathlessly. " _Just right past me at Mach Five! Didn't even see me! It's like I wasn't even there!_ "

" _Confirm. I've got it heading north-east._ " Escudero added. " _Lieutenant, I'm going to lose it. It's moving faster than the drone can keep up._ "

"North-east... North-east, that's towards us, isn't it." Maggie realized. It wasn't a question, rhetorical or otherwise. It was an observation. Thing Two was coming to check on its sibling.

And it would be on top of them in just minutes. She had tuned out most of Lyle's enthusiastic rant on the technical specs of the camera drones, but she remembered hearing that top-of-the-line models like the pair they had borrowed had an average maximum speed of about thirty miles an hour.

Hellgrammite baby number two had been spotted less than a mile away.

 _There's almost no time..._

 _I'll lose more people if I don't act now..._

The thought was like a hot iron brand searing her skin, but it wasn't the sort of imagined pain that made her want to shy away and run. It spurred her mind out of that panicked sludge and pushed the fear down so she could _think_. She couldn't lose more people. No, that was _unacceptable_. Too much had been taken from the SCU already and she could not allow anything further. Not while it was within her power to do something about it.

There was time. They just had to make the best use of it.

"Chidester! Get your ass in gear and head up this way!" Maggie barked, her voice coming out strong and authoritative. Not a hint of any of the fear she was feeling. She turned to the rest of the team. "Ambush two is called off! We're on the attack! Get the pig-stickers out! Same tactic as before! It's the only plan we knew works so we're going to use it!"

"Uh, Lieutenant _-_ -" McLaughlin started.

"Detective, do you have an eleventh hour Hail Mary plan stuffed in your socks? One with a high probability of success?" Maggie wondered.

"No?..."

"Are you sure? Because if you've got something, now is the time to tell us. Otherwise..."

McLaughlin bit his lip, looking for a split-second like he wanted to break into a wild argument with her over battle plans and the dangers of flying by the seat of your pants. But five years in SWAT had also taught him that battle plans changed in a heartbeat and rarely survived contact with the enemy. The enemy was unpredictable. There were only so many variables you could account for.

"No Lieutenant, I haven't got a plan." he admitted.

"Then stop standing around."

The detective leapt into action with an appreciable amount of speed, moving to help the others retreive the harpoon-like spears from the Hellgrammite corpse. It seemed to be a two-man job; those things weren't designed to come out easily, after all.

" _Lieutenant, I've lost sight of Thing Two._ " Escudero reported. " _It's sprinting like a beast. You've got two minutes, best estimate._ "

"Thanks Lupe." Maggie nodded. "Any sign of the Big Kahuna?"

" _Not at the moment. I'll get back to you on that._ "

"Hurry."

They heard the second Hellgrammite before they saw it _-_ \- the by now familiar tea kettle shriek dopplering towards them. In the eerie kind of silence that followed, they also heard the steady thumping of many running feet. The SCU momentarily ceased working, their heads shooting up like meerkats. Maggie swore that she saw pupils dilate all across the board.

Turpin flapped his hands at them. "Keep going! Get those hooks out!" he shouted.

They didn't even get their heads back down before the Hellgrammite arrived. All fifteen feet of it crashed right through the fence with the non-stop momentum of a freight train, shrieking and spitting like something mad and possessed.

"Get ready!" Maggie shouted, hoisting the M16 back up to firing position.

"We aren't ready!" Steve shouted back at her.

Maggie looked over her shoulder and saw the last thing she wanted to see. Only two of the hooks were free and ready to be used. They were still grappling with the other five, sunk in deep. The green ichor had oozed up around each of the shafts and they were doing their best not to touch it with bare hands.

Jones reacted before the lieutenant could. He leapt up from his crouch, a forward spring that carried him over the corpse, and sprinted across the field, his coat flapping behind him. He sprinted a good ten yards down the field and then stopped, digging his heels into the turf. Arms stretched out, fingers splayed wide, and then he moved like he was pushing something heavy.

There was no pulse of air or ripple or anything to suggest that something was happening. Except for the Hellgrammite stopping just as hard and suddenly as though it had come up against a wall. It shrieked and hissed, limbs windmilling as it strained against an invisible force.

Maggie blinked in confusion, momentarily unable to make any sense of what she was seeing. Until she remembered: Jones was a metahuman. Telepathy and telekinesis. The former he used to so rarely and the latter with the lightest touch during their training sessions. She had seen him lift pens and open doors from across the room and deflect the rubber balls they used, but she had never seen him stop something as big and heavy as the Hellgrammite. He had told them all once that moving anything with his mind was like physically moving it. It required effort, like he was putting his own muscles into the task.

The Hellgrammite was a lot of beast to freeze dead in its tracks like that. He was holding it back over twenty feet away. It swiped at the air and screamed bloody murder. Its legs gouged repeatedly into the ground and tried to gain traction against the psychic grip.

"...the fuck?" Royer asked faintly.

The lieutenant winced. Jones's abilities were something they had left out of the briefing.

 _At least Commander Friedland isn't here or this water would be a lot hotter_. She thought gratefully.

Jim slapped the junior officer on the arm. "Stop staring, start pulling! It's not that weird!"

"Please hurry. It has been a while since I've held down anything this large. Or wiggly." Jones said, his voice perfectly audible through the earpieces. They could hear the faint tremor that heralded fatigue.

"Never mind the hooks! Get the rifles!" Maggie ordered, shooing them away from the corpse. The remainder of the M16s had been stashed away in the dug-outs. "Turpin, Mills, McLaughlin, come on!"

Now was not the time to be choosy. It was the best they could get considering the circumstances and all Jones had to do was hold it down _long enough_. One good shot into its open mouth and it would be dead like its sibling.

One good shot _anywhere_ , she supposed.

They ran up past Jones and Maggie glanced at him as she passed. There were beads of sweat on the man's brow and his expression was one of concentration combined with stress. His fingers were curling slowly into fists and his elbows wobbled like they were threatening to fold. He might as well have been physically holding the Hellgrammite back, for as much as he appeared to be exerting himself.

 _Hang on, we'll lighten the load in a few seconds._ She thought at him, hoping he was in the state of mind to pick it up.

Maggie took up position beside Turpin and trained the rifle's sights on the beast.

"Fire!" she ordered.

The rifles went off in a loud collective roar. Reflexively, the Hellgrammite jeked its head aside and scuttled backwards and Maggie knew that they had missed their intended targets on its head. No green ichor appeared to tell them if they had hit any part of the beast. It shook itself and screamed like it had felt pain, but no real damage appeared.

"Uh, Maggie, I don't think these bullets are getting through!" Turpin yelped.

"Didn't we swap the tungsten ones for copper?" Mills wondered.

"Copper." McLaughlin confirmed, looking grave. "Might have tougher skin than that."

Mills looked at her. "Lieutenant? Now what?"

' _Keep firing'_ was the first thing Maggie thought of, but only default. Her Star City instructors had been certain that the key to any victory was to put as many bullet holes as possible into a thing and hoping maybe that would do the trick. Metropolis had very different ideas on the discharging of one's firearm and it came down to using as few bullets as possible; preferably none at all if you could help it.

Besides, if the armor-piercing rounds weren't getting the necessary penetration, then what was the use?

"Fall back!" Maggie ordered. They didn't want to be too close in case Jones lost his grip on it. "Fall back and find another angle!"

"Lieutenant, I think another _-_ -" McLaughlin started, protestingly.

"Detective, there will come a time when you and me work on this taking orders thing, but _now_ is really not the time to be questioning me at every turn!" Maggie snapped, giving the detective a shove back down the field.

Mills and Turpin allowed themselves to be shooed off without a word of protest and she went to check on her telekinetic detective.

"Jones, how much longer can you hold it?" she asked.

"Probably for not as long as you would prefer." Jones grunted, his face already tinged red. He glanced apologetically at her. "I'm sorry. I will have to let it go."

At the sound of the lieutenant calling for a withdrawal, James looked up and studied the scene across the way. He wasn't sure of the reasons, of course, but he could guess. Either the bullets weren't getting through because this one was literally made of tougher stuff or this Hellgrammite was showing itself to be smarter than its sibling and they couldn't go about it the same way as before.

He watched as Lieutenant Sawyer and her entourage fell back and the Hellgrammite tried to chase, but it smacked up against the psychic repellent that Jones was pushing back with. But he was struggling; James could see it in the way Jones was bracing himself and how bowed his back was, like he was physically pushing back.

 _It's going to get loose._ James knew. _He's out of practice. He can't keep that up for too much longer and he knows it._

He looked back at the Hellgrammite, which had resumed its efforts to break free. It lunged forward and fell back over and over, repeatedly pushing against the psychic grip. Particularly, he studied its physical structure. Though mostly insectoid, it had residual human features. Meaning it had a neck.

Not a long neck, but one short and squat. Just enough to provide the head with something to swivel on. But it had a neck and that meant there was a spinal cord running from its skull and down its back. Even at this range, James could _just_ see the outline of a backbone ridge.

 _Well now, that's a possibility._

"James!" Steve slapped him lightly on the shoulder. "What's with the face? You look like you've got a plan."

"Yeah, I think I do. Hold this." James shoved the M16 into the former agent's hands. "If this doesn't work, you're going to have to bail me out quick. I don't want to get eaten."

"What _-_ -" was all Steve got out before the redhead burst into a dead sprint towards the Hellgrammite. "James!"

Everyone turned, but James was too busy tearing across the field to notice. He didn't know how much longer Jones could hold out and he wanted to get there before the man had to give up. He knew that he was running faster than he should have been, his enhanced strength giving him more speed. He caught a glimpse of the lieutenant's face as he passed her, her expression appalled and confused, like she knew what he was doing, but couldn't fathom why he was doing it.

He shot past Jones and zeroed in on the Hellgrammite, taking something of a roundabout path so he didn't come up directly in front of it. When he was close enough, he lengthened his stride, took several powerful steps, and leapt.

Five feet up and almost ten feet forward. It was not a feat that many of the average adult could accomplish, but James was not an average adult. He had never been an average adult.

The red faceted eyes couldn't change shape, but James could have sworn they widened as he descended. There was a brief sensation of pressure on his shoulders, but it didn't deter his landing on the Hellgrammite's broad body, a little below the shoulders. He grasped the head _-_ \- one hand wrapping under the chin and the other around the forehead. Before the Hellgrammite could make any effort to claw at him or shake him off, James gave the beast's head a sharp twist. He was rewarded by an equally sharp popping sound and a tearing noise. A shudder seemed to ripple down the Hellgrammite's body _-_ \- the muscles giving out _en masse_ , he realized, as his perch went from slightly secure to completely unbalanced.

The Hellgrammite died like its sibling, toppling over ungracefully without a sound. James leapt off in the opposite direction and hit the ground in a roll. He straightened up in time to see the rest of the SCU making their way over. Maggie marched up to him with all the authority of an entire parade block and planted her hands on her hips.

"Well, that was stupid." she declared.

"Sorry, Lieutenant. I just saw an opportunity and went for it." James shrugged, gesturing vaguely at the newly deceased Hellgrammite. "Forgiveness over permission, you know."

"I do. So I'm not going to argue with the end result."

Turpin shoved his way in between them, slightly wild-eyed. "How the hell did you even manage to do that?!" he demanded.

James shrugged again, not sure if he should tell the truth. If it came up, he might say something. But until then, he didn't see a reason why he should.

Royer pushed his way in. "That was _uh-mazing_! I've never seen anyone do that before!"

"It was something else." McLaughlin said, reaching out to fist-bump.

"It would seem I'm not the only unusual one around here." Jones commented, like he knew more than he was going to let on. All things considered, he probably had a very good idea what was up.

"I think we have to talk about that, Lieutenant Sawyer." Giacoia said, turing to Maggie. "All due respect, of course, but I think it was prudent for us to know ahead of time that one, if not two, of our colleagues is a metahuman."

"With all due respect, Officer Giacoia, it's still not my place to disclose that sort of information." Maggie admitted. "Until we have some sort of official word on metahumans in law enforcement, disclosure is up to the discretion of said metahumans."

Giacoia made a face like he wanted to argue, but didn't know where to start. He glanced over Jones, who lifted an eyebrow in response to the silent inquiry. It was a challenging sort of expression, like Jones was asking if Giacoia really wanted to make an argument out of this. Clearly, Giacoia thought better of this and subsided with a shrug.

 _These next few weeks are going to be like watching sort of territorial but very lazy cats try and hash out the pecking order with as little effort as possible._ Maggie thought wryly.

"Chidester, where are you?" she asked into the microphone.

" _Practically there. I'm at the edge of the field._ " Chidester replied.

Maggie scanned the fence-line and spotted one lone human form making their way over the broken fence.

" _Looks like I missed all the excitement._ " Chidester commented.

"Yeah, you did." Maggie agreed. "Lupe, any sight of dear old Dad?"

" _Still nothing, but it's not like we've seen anything of him in the last week or two._ " Escudero admitted. " _Gut feeling tells me he's on the move, though. Keep your heads up._ "

Sergeant Kesel suddenly grabbed the lieutenant's shoulder.

"Something wrong?" Maggie asked.

"Remember how we were worried the first Hellgrammite could pupate?" Kesel prompted. Without giving Maggie the time to respond, she pointed up over their heads. Though it was well above the lights, the thing up there was unmistakeably the size of a Cessna plane, but absolutely not a Cessna plane.

"Ah, shit." Maggie groaned as the pupated Hellgrammite started to tip earth-wards. "Hit the deck!"

A male dobson fly _-_ \- that is to say, a normal earthly one that could be found in Appalachian streams and did not fly very well _-_ \- was still a fucking big insect at three to four inches long and could have a wingspan up to seven inches. The length of the body did not include the inch and a half long mandibles that male dobson flies sported. A normal dobson fly was not a bug that you wanted to encounter in a dark alley at midnight.

That being said, Papa Hellgrammite was also not an insect you wanted to encounter on a brightly lit baseball diamond at midnight, but there the SCU was. Throwing themselves to the ground as the fucking massive insect buzzed right through the air where their heads had collectively been just seconds ago.

The buzzing was horrible, like a noisy printer through a loudspeaker and thrice as teeth-rattling and the adult Hellgrammite swooped in so close that Maggie could see the overlapping chitinous plates that made up the underside. The wings worked furiously and the constant downdraft of air was enough to flatten the humans to the ground anyways. The wings were a body-length each, and if Maggie was judging the size as accurately as she thought she was, then Papa Hellgrammite had a wingspan of at least sixty feet.

Papa Hellgrammite swooped off, angling back into the air and climbing. The SCU hurried to get back to their feet.

"It's like an evil Mothra!" Mills complained, brushing the grass off his knees.

"Battra." Royer corrected.

"What?"

"Evil Mothra is Battra." Colletta said, nodding at Royer. "He was created by the Earth to protect it, but he got real pissed off by human interference and kind of went crazy."

"Except Battra turned good again to help Mothra defeat Godzilla!" Royer added, grinning at the senior officer.

"Neerrrds." Giacoia taunted.

"Wow, I wish I'd actually asked Superman to come help us on this one." Maggie said softly. Only Turpin was actually close enough to hear her.

"Why didn't you?" the detective wondered.

"Figured we could handle it." Maggie admitted. It had been a moment of unbending pride. "Then this asshole comes out looking like _that_. I have no idea how we're going to deal with that."

"Calculated dumb luck." Turpin suggested. "Fortunately, I don't think it's going to go anywhere else. We are the ones that killed its babies."

"How is that fortunate for us?"

"It's coming back around!" Colletta shouted.

"Scatter!" Maggie ordered.

They did just that, though they couldn't help but break off into pairs. That was something that had been conditioned into them by their police training. They were all but blown away again as Papa Hellgrammite buzzed back through the air-space with all the noise of a Boeing engine and all the grace of a falling lobster.

Maggie didn't so much as trip as she was knocked right off her feet by the downdraft. She went face-first into the damp grass, palms skidding when the first thing she tried to do was push herself back up. Her second attempt at getting back up was thwarted when someone fell on top of her. Someone heavy and male with red hair.

"Sorry, Lieutenant." James grunted, doing his best to lever himself up with the Hellgrammite hovering in place above them.

He looped a hand under one of her shoulders and did this weird fish-flop manuever that at least allowed Maggie to get onto her knees and scramble a few yards away. She ended up dragging James with her. With the Hellgrammite above them hovering furiously, it was next to impossible to actually get on their feet.

Papa Hellgrammite let out a noise like a train whistle and landed on spindly-seeming legs that didn't look like they would hold up such a large body. It was quite the miracle that all three Hellgrammites hadn't collapsed under their own bodyweight before now. Insects didn't get that huge anymore and there were several reasons for that. Oxygen

content in the atmosphere was one and Maggie was pretty sure that physics was another.

The Hellgrammite ignored the two humans sprawled uncomfortably too close and instead stepped daintily around until it was standing over its dead spawn. James poked her side with a knee, silently encouraging her to get up and move while it wasn't looking, but Maggie was almost entranced by the behavior of Papa Hellgrammite. There was something distinctly tender about the way it nudged the body with its two fucking huge mandibles. The sound it made next was less train whistle and more something that Maggie might dare call a coo, though she couldn't find it in her to believe that the big-ass bug had actually _cared_ about its devil spawn.

"Lieutenant!" James cried in frustration, foregoing any sense of stealth and seizing her under the arms to drag her away.

The Hellgrammite turned. Not its whole body, just its head twisting around a full one hundred and eighty degrees as fast as a whip and this Hellgrammite **did** have eyes that could narrow. They did so in the evilest expression Maggie had seen in a long, long time. It glared hotly at her and James like it _knew_ what they had done.

"Move move! It's gonna eat us!" she shouted, scrambling to her feet. "I think it knows! I have no idea how, but I swear to god it knows!"

"Know what?" James asked.

"That we killed its babies."

Papa Hellgrammite hooted that train whistle sound again and burst into the air, taking off vertically, more or less. Maggie and James bolted away, heading deeper into the outfield. There wasn't much they could except run.

Out of the corner of her eye, Maggie saw Turpin and the rest of the SCU lining up with the rifles, ready to take a shot. She wasn't sure that any of the bullets would make a dent in Papa Hellgrammite. The adult hide looked more armor-like than the babies.

 _If anyone has any brilliantly stupid plans, now is_ _ **really**_ _the time to act on them!_ She thought desperately. Because she had nothing.

There was the thunderous sound of the rifles discharging all at the same time, but the Hellgrammite only hooted that train whistle sound again and it was too loud and _too close_. The downdraft of its wings washed over Maggie and James again, but they didn't get knocked off their feet. No, this time, Papa Hellgrammite swept over them. James looked back and swore loudly. Maggie reflexively glanced over her shoulder to see the front two legs of the monster reaching towards them. It had two sticky-looking toe-things that were easily as long as her entire arm.

She didn't catch more than a glimpse of them before they snatched her around the waist.

The Hellgrammite ascended sharply, carrying its prey up away from the ground. Maggie's stomach lurched at the sudden altitude change. The Hellgrammite's toes were hard and bruising on her hipbones. She looked to her right and found that James had been grabbed as well.

"Harper!" she shouted, though she could barely hear her own voice over the whistling wind. The redhaired man flashed her a thumbs-up and an exasperated expression.

Maggie dug a hand under her coat, her fingers encountering the hilt of the SIG still safe in the holster. She yanked it out of the holster, pointed it upwards at the monster's underside, and fired. She didn't think there was any penetration from the bullet, but it didn't matter. Papa Hellgrammite shrieked, probably in surprise more than anything, and let go of them.

 _Oh shit-_ - _!_

Then she was tumbling through open air with no idea how far away the ground was because it was too dark to see _-_ \- _No, I can see the trees over there-_ - _oh shit I can see the trees-_ - _!_

James slammed into her and Maggie's already spinning world turned the wrong way, but the stars were above her but at least she knew which way was down and they were still going to die, weren't they _-_ -

And then they were falling through the trees, a tangled vision of dark branches and gray moss. Wood bent and snapped under James's back rather than Maggie's. With every hit, their fall slowed to something less than deadly. There was one more thud, more sudden and final than the others, and James released her. She rolled off his chest onto cool, slightly damp grass, and remembered how to breathe.

After a moment, she said: "We lived through that?"

"Yep." James grunted.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, it's just been a while since I've had a part of me get impaled."

Maggie blinked. "What? _What_?"

She sat up to look at him properly. James was sprawled out flat on his back with his arms flung out from his sides. Even in the darkness, she could see that his face had gone pale. Looking further down, she finally saw the sizeable stick of wood going all the way through the muscle of his thigh.

"Harper!" she yelped. Her hands flew forward with the intention of pulling the wood out, but she remembered just in time that doing so might be very bad.

"It's fine, it'll heal." James said in a tone too lackadaisical for having a chunk of wood all the way through his leg.

"It's gone right through, you idiot!" Maggie shouted. Maybe the adrenaline was messing with his head, making it feel less worse than it was.

"Lieutenant, it'll heal. I'll be fine." James assured her, waving a hand.

"Oh really? Do you happen to have hyper-accelerated healing to go with that macho attitude?"

The redhead shrugged. "It's not hyper-accelerated, but it is enhanced..."

Maggie opened her mouth to retort, but it sunk in what her officer had just said and the implications thereof. That his healing wasn't hyper-accelerated, but it was _considerable_.

"Yes, Lieutenant, I am a metahuman." James confirmed, knowing the question was coming. "Increased strength, durability, and stamina to go with that enhanced healing." He waved at hand at the stick. "I promise, this isn't going to kill me. Stitch me up; it'll scar over in just two weeks.

"I didn't say anything sooner because disclosure is at my discretion. Your words, remember. You said them less than ten minutes ago."

Maggie frowned. "I did." she agreed. "Doesn't mean you're not bleeding. Don't be a dumbass, Harper."

The man just smiled.

"C'mon, time to get up." the lieutenant went on, putting her hands under his shoulders. She looked up through the trees and saw the glow from the baseball field. "Let's try getting back to the others. I don't care how tough your ass is, I'll feel better when I know it's in a hospital with doctors getting that wood out of your leg."

She only got James into a sitting position when Papa Hellgrammite's train whistle hoot and the buzzing of its massive wings filled the air. The monster insect crashed down the canopy of branches and landed in front of them. The mandibles clicked and the red faceted eyes gleamed in the indirect light from the field.

Maggie stood up and faced the beast squarely. If she was going to die here and now, she'd rather be on her feet.

"Roderick Rose!"

Papa Hellgrammite twitched.

"Normally, this is where I'd try to reason with you! But you ate two of my detectives and killed my supervisor! I just want you to know where I'm coming from!" she shouted.

The statement would have been more bold if she had actually had _anything_ that could do the Hellgrammite some damage. She had left the M16 rifle back on the field and she had lost her SIG somewhere along the way down.

 _Yes, now would be a great time for me to manifest some hitherto unknown meta-power._

But those things tended to show up during puberty and she had turned thirty-three last December.

The Hellgrammite screeched, sounding more like its spawn now.

 _Well universe, thanks for letting me down._

Papa Hellgrammite lowered itself to pass under the low branches and its wings fluttered and something _big_ dropped down onto its back. It was just too dark to see _what_ , but it had a long head and sharp teeth that dug into the segment between the Hellgrammite's head and thorax. The monster screeched and buzzed its wings, but it had no appendages that could reach up to its back; it had lost the arms while pupating. It attacker was not deterred and shoved its long jaw deeper into the groove. There was a great ***crunch*** of chitin cracking apart and the Hellgrammite's head just... fell off.

"Oh that's wrong." James whispered.

Papa Hellgrammite's body quickly followed the head, leaking green ichor. The _-_ \- the creature, whatever had killed it _-_ \- jumped off before it could fall out and landed lightly on the ground. In the dark, it was nearly impossible to see anything, beyond the fact that it was roughly seven feet tall with an elongated skull and ridges all the way down its back to the barbed tail. Maggie didn't get a very good look at it before it melted _-_ \- literally, the alien form ran to something similar to mud and clay and _reformed_ right before her eyes. It turned into something man-shaped with a smaller but still elongated head and four distinct arms that were briefly splayed out on either side of the body. But the two bottom arms melted into the top pair and disappeared along with nearly a foot of height. The head shrank to familiar human proportions.

And John Jones stepped out from the shadow of the trees.

"Detective?" Maggie ventured, tentatively. What the _hell_ had she just seen?! What the hell was even going on anymore?!

On the ground, James had to fight down a swell of amused and somewhat hysterical laughter. He had been alive for nine decades and he was just now starting to see stuff like this?! First Superman and now _this_?

Oh, it was the start of a strange new world!

Earth was going to shit itself a hundred times over in the next decade, if he was any judge.

"I know." Jones nodded, his voice calm. "There is something I will need to tell you."

* * *

-0-


	14. Men Are From Mars

Welp, nearly at the finish line. Chapter 15 and the epilogue will go up next Friday without comment, so two things to address now.

Thing one: I'm planning to make a good show for NaNoWriMo this year and there's an original story that I want to spend some quality time with, so that's going to be my focus for the month of November. I've spent the last week on the outline.

Which means... Thing two: Formation isn't going to get posted until at least late January/early February and that's the earliest I can ballpark it. Completing Lightning Storm is first priority on the fic front since it's only got two or three chapters left but I think there's some writer's block? I just hit a wall halfway through chapter 43. I know where it's going and how to get there, but the sentences won't cooperate. Ideally, writing in the dropped sub-plot from Formation shouldn't take long, but let's be real. My plotlines like to grow.

My profile now has the rest of the Phase 1 titles if you want a peek at what's to come! (I'm still not sold on the WW title tho)

* * *

Chapter Fourteen: Men Are From Mars

Maggie Sawyer wasn't arrogant enough to say that she was always prepared for every situation. To be fair, she was expected to act like it. One of the top skills valued in a Metropolis police officer was the ability to think on one's feet and think very quickly at that. To act as though they always Had A Plan. Half false confidence, half Dumbo's magic feather. It helped instill calm and security in the citizens when disasters hit. As long as the people believed that the police were On Top Of Things, the more quickly and quietly they would comply when a police man gave an order.

However, after a decade of practicing "fake it 'til you make it", Maggie sometimes forgot that she actually wasn't prepared for everything.

Definitely not for the increasingly mysterious likes of John Jones.

She didn't know too much about him, not really. By nature, Jones was a man of few words and a self-admitted introvert. He had always kept to himself. What Maggie had learned about him had mostly come from other people. His Midway City upbringing, only child, deceased parents, an indulgent weakness for Choco cookies, a soft spot for cheesy science fiction movies and the Loony Tunes, and a semi-obsessive fascination for the solar system.

She had caught him star-gazing more than once. He could rattle off facts about quasars and black holes at the drop of a hat. A particular Code Veitch had drawn them out of Metropolis and down the penninsula to an observatory where Jones had somehow talked his way into sitting at the telescope and had stayed there the entire time (Maggie had handled most of the investigation that day).

As far as she had ever been able to tell over the last three years, John Jones had been little more than an ordinary man making his way through life with as few ripples and upsets as possible.

Except now, she was starting to suspect that most of his back-story had been fabricated.

Friday afternoon sunlight just graced the edge of her office, the last beam lingering in the corner on the cream-colored wall. Maggie sat behind her desk; Jones sat in front of it. No analogue clock ticked through the passing seconds of silence. They didn't quite make eye contact. Jones stared in the general direction of the lieutenant's hands while Maggie eyeballed one of the abstract photocopied paintings on the wall just behind the detective's head.

"I'd say..." The lieutenant finally began, breaking the tentative silence. "That you should start at the beginning, but I don't know how long a story I'd be in for."

"I can summarize it." Jones offered. "How quickly this takes, however, is mostly up to you. I can make my story short, but it will be a tad too fantastical, even for the things you have seen."

Maggie leaned forward. "Detective Jones, I grew up in a world where some men's dicks had honest to god magical powers and women shot energy beams from their titties. As strange as that was, the stranger part was watching that world collapse under the weight of someone else's prejudice. Now that world is coming back and we have an _alien_ regularly seen in the skies over Metropolis. Guardian is back after twenty-plus years. I bet more are coming. At this point, I'm not sure what you could say that would fuck me up."

"Do not make such a claim just yet, Lieutenant." Jones advised. He took a deep breath. "Would you care to begin with a guess?"

Maggie shrugged like _sure why not._ "Shapeshifter. Sentient slime mold. Alien. Fifteen ducks in a trench coat. Hospital jello. That goo I scraped off the bottom of my shoe last week. Stop me when I'm getting warm."

Jones smiled faintly. "Ez'garis Borr'hoff."

"Guesenheit." Maggie said wryly. Then, jokingly, she added: "Am I supposed to know who or what that is?"

"Yes, I suppose." Jones replied. He looked amused. "Borr'hoff is a person. He was before my time; he went missing several years before I was born. It was a great mystery; one that I alone have solved, to my delight. You know of this individual, I would imagine. Under the name Edgar Rice Burroughs."

It was not the direction that Maggie had expected this conversation to take, but yes, she did indeed know of the late Edgar Rice Burroughs. She had thumbed through some of his books, but she hadn't really gotten into them. Her father had adored the Tarzan of the Apes series, while her nerdy little brother had found more to relate to in the adventures of John Carter. In any case, her mother had abhored the idea of her only daughter reading science-fiction.

"I've poked through some of his books... But what does _he_ have to do with _you_?" she asked.

"His John Carter of Mars series is not entirely a work of fiction. They are Martian fairytales, actually. Somewhat dramatized and, of course, altered so that humans have a better chance of understanding them, but Martian all the same." Jones explained, which only caused Maggie increasing confusion. "Everything else, however, the descriptions of the Martian landscape and customs... Those are quite accurate."

Maggie kept leaning foward, her expression both confused and expectant, like she was waiting for the punch line. Her eyebrows moved further up her forehead as though she was encouraging him to continue and finish the joke. She could hear what he was saying, but it just wasn't getting through.

Jones simply raised his own eyebrows in return.

The fact that Jones didn't keep talking was quite possibly the most disconcerting thing Maggie had experienced in recent times. There should have been a punchline, because this sounded like a joke. Honestly, how could she be expected to believe the words he was saying? It had to be a joke that Edgar Rice Burroughs was a _-_ \- was a _-_ -

"Oh... my god..." Maggie said slowly. The realization was like a slow leak of adrenaline, making her feel jittery. "Are _-_ \- Are you telling me that Edgar Rice Burroughs was _-_ \- a _-_ \- a Mar _-_ \- marsh-"

Unable to finish, she pointed vaguely to the ceiling. Jones nodded.

"And you're a _-_ -!" Maggie started to shout. The further revelation going down like a brick and rendered her momentarily speechless.

Suddenly, John Jones, Metropolis P.D. detective, looked _very_ different.

Physically, his appearance hadn't changed a jot. Still the same tall black man with the shiny bald head and heavy brow, not very physically imposing, wearing a slate-blue button-up shirt and a tasteful tie. His Met P.D. badge gleamed from a belt loop, gun holster straps snug around his shoulders. He looked the picture of every police officer she had ever seen.

Maybe that was the point.

Because if Maggie had parsed this right, _John Jones was not human_.

John Jones was a _Martian_!

 _Omigodomigodomigodomigod-_ - _A MARTIAN?! What-_ - _how-_ - _that doesn't-_ - _!_ Her brain gibbered. At this point, she had to cover her mouth or she was very sure that she would start screaming.

"But you look so human!" she blurted out unthinkingly.

She slapped her hands back over her mouth again, that sort of social horror filling her because that comment sounded borderline _racist_. However, if Jones preceived any offense from the statement, he didn't say anything about it. Rather, he chuckled and said:

"Shapeshifting alien. For the purposes of blending in, naturally. My proper form would be rather alarming to the average person."

Maggie nodded absently. Okay, shapeshifting alien. That made sense ( _How does that make sense? When did that start making sense?!_ ). The common consensus was that Martians were little green men with huge bug eyes, which wasn't a form that blended in well with the general human populace.

Or maybe...

Maybe he was a _big_ green man.

That seven foot tall form with four arms that she had glimpsed briefly yesterday. Obviously, Maggie had no clue how shapeshifting worked (especially in a real-world context!), but maybe Jones was the type who needed to make a pit stop in between forms? To return to his natural form for half a second before taking on the next one?

That had certainly been no little green man.

"Does Superman know?"

Why _that_ was the first question Maggie asked, she wasn't sure. Probably just a passing thought that the aliens should hang out or meet or _something_.

Jones shook his head. "No. At this point, I have no plans to tell him." he admitted. It would come up eventually, he imagined _-_ \- these things often did _-_ \- but he wasn't yet ready to throw himself out there.

"I'm _-_ \- I'm not the first person to know." Maggie stated. It wasn't a guess, not with how comfortable Jones was with telling her.

"There have been several before you. It is a short list." the detective nodded. "I have lived on Earth for over fifty years now. My arrival was not noted in any manner by then-media outlets. There was no interstellar ship involved and it occurred well away from any heavily populated areas. You will not find any records of it."

"Fifty years... That would mean you showed up in the 1950s or so?"

"Yes."

The lieutenant nodded, a bit thoughtfully. If she went Rummaging through the internet looking for anything, likely all she would find would be the usual cadre of nutty alien conspiracy theorists who believed in everything from lizard men to a faked moon landing. If there had been no crashed spaceships and it had indeed taken place away from any population centers, then no one had noticed anything all.

The fifties had been a time of sometimes badly filed documents, minimal paper trails, and over-packed records rooms usually manned by a single file clerk. How hard would it had been for John Jones _-_ \- telepathic alien shapeshifter _-_ \- to slip inside on official business and lay down a few key documents recording the existence of his presumed identity?

And not just once! He must have done this several times! So of course he had chosen one of the most generic names! "John Jones" was a name that could slip through the cracks several times over and no one would bat an eye.

"You know something..." Maggie started, lowering her hands. "You just told me that you're from Mars... And I'm finding myself more concerned with how many times you forged federal documents."

Jones made a thoughtful face and counted out three fingers that he quickly lowered. He had taken Dr. Erdel's place in the world until the seventies and he was currently on his third ititeration of John Jones.

"I guess I don't want to know." Maggie mumbled, rubbing her forehead.

"No, I don't suppose you should know." Jones agreed.

The urge to thump her head off the desk a few times was there, but she ignored it because it wasn't going to help her with this. Nothing would help her. She was sure that if she could thumb through the old D.E.O. handbook, she wouldn't even find a paragraph dedicated to "What to do When Your Coworker's an Alien". It certainly wasn't like they were going to cover that in today's handbook.

 _Fuck fuck fuck I didn't see this one coming at all oh world why would you do this to me at a time like this?..._

"Lieutenant," Jones prompted. "Do you have any further questions?"

"I... I sort of want to see what you really look like, but I guess you won't show me." Maggie presumed. To both her relief and dismay, Jones nodded.

"I believe you have had enough shocks for one day." he said, standing up. "Now, there is a large amount of pizza, junk food, and soda awaiting consumption in the bullpen, and new colleagues to properly induct into the ranks. I suggest you partake, and take your mind off of things for a few hours."

He bobbed his head respectfully in her direction and left. The sound of the Welcome and "We kicked ass" party briefly filtered into the office before he shut the door. In his absence, this time Maggie **did** thump her forehead on the desk. Just once, to see if the pain would wake her up from what surely had to be a very convoluted dream. But when she opened her eyes, she was still staring at the glossy wooden surface.

 _Nope. Guess this one is reality._ She thought. _Holy shit, I have one metahuman and one motherfucking_ _ **alien**_ _in my department. They don't train you to respond this kind of shit. What am I supposed to do now?_

The answer, when she thought about it, was easy in theory if not in practice. Carry on like everything was normal. Carry on like she hadn't been made aware that nothing was normal anymore. Neither Jones nor Harper would want to be treated any differently than before.

Harper would be easier. His powers weren't that much of a stand-out. The enhanced strength could be passed off now and again as a freaky adrenaline surge, and his healing factor wasn't so quick that it was immediately noticeable (they were going to converge _en masse_ on the hospital in about an hour, when he was due to be released). At the very least, Maggie knew that Harper was human.

Jones wasn't.

She knew that now and it was beginning to give her the willies.

She didn't know _anything_ about Martians!

The door clicked open, admitting Turpin into the office. He had come with one of the pizza boxes and two cans of soda balanced on the top.

"Pizza delivery service." he declared, placing the box on the corner of her desk. "Only got half, but it's supreme. No one picked any of the olives off."

"Dan, you thoughtful person."

Maggie moved the two soda cans aside and opened the box to reveal half a supreme deep dish pizza, still warm to the point of the cheese being gooey. Layered in mushrooms, peppers, black olives, pepperoni and sausage. All sorts of cheese-filled greasy goodness.

"You're missing a real party out there, Mags." Turpin said, taking the seat that Jones had vacated. "I don't know who put on the big band swing music, but Royer is doing an admireable one-man Lindy Hop. I didn't know that dance required so much precision."

Maggie shrugged. "Just because his aiming skills are crap doesn't mean he can't cut a rug with the best of them." she said through a mouthful of pizza.

"Why can't his dance skills translate into his aiming skills is what I wanna know." Turpin grumbled. They were going to have to work Royer over to bring him up to the minimum standard. No way they could send him out into the field with such poor marksmanship points. "You gonna head out and join the fun, or hide in here for a while?"

"Hide in here for a while. Sorry Dan, but my head's everywhere and I'm not in the mood for a good old-fashioned hoedown." Maggie informed him, smiling apologetically.

"Because of yesterday. And today." Turpin knew. He didn't know any of the details yet; they were still waiting on a final report. But he did know that Jones had done something _very odd_ to kill Papa Hellgrammite and while it had weirded out Maggie, it had also left Harper giggling intermittently with delight. "Did you talk to him?"

"Yeah, he explained a few things. Honestly, he managed to make both more and less sense. Like there's aspects of him now that I understand a lot better, but it brought up a lot of new things that I don't understand at all."

Like, why had he chosen to come to Earth? Why was he still here fifty years later? It couldn't be that he liked the people. Humans on the whole were panicky dangerous animals with a nervous trigger-finger. Maggie had never met assholes bigger than some of her fellow humans.

Why law enforcement as a career path? How had he gotten to this planet if there had been no spaceship involved? What he had been doing with himself between the fifties and Metropolis? Had he even spent any time in Midway City? Exactly how many people knew he was from way out of town and could she contact any of them? Really, how accurate _were_ the John Carter books?

And Edgar Rice Burroughs was a Martian too?

Seriously?

"Wanna talk about it?" Turpin offered.

Maggie shook her head. "I don't know if I can. I'm not sure if Jones told me in confidence or if I can tell other people."

"Okay, I get it. I'll ask him myself, I guess."

"Careful you don't scream."

One of Turpin's enormously bushy eyebrows rose questioningly, half his face taking on the makings of a frown. Maggie made an "mmm-hmm" sound as she took another mouthful of pizza. Turpin whistled.

"Damn, really?"

"Really."

"Maybe I won't ask him." the detective muttered. If it was really as bad as he was thinking...

"Don't worry, Jones isn't out to kill us or anything like that." Maggie assured him. She fished another slice out of the box. "I'm going to get some fresh air. My head's still spinning."

Turpin waved her out. She left with her coat around her shoulders and the pizza slices balanced on a napkin. She managed to slip past the bullpen and down the stairs to the bottom floor entirely unnoticed. She navigated the empty hallways through the detention area and out into the sally port, where they would process and store any perp's vehicles before sending them to the impound lot. It too was empty. She found a curb to sit on just outside the garage door.

It was late evening, past six o'clock. The SCU building was right in the city's civic center, meaning the surrounding streets and sidewalks tended to completely empty of people at this time of day. The only people she ever saw were the ones who cut across the civic center in order to reach the restuarant district from the hotels. Though car horns honked at the red lights and engines growled in the distance, the nearest streets were empty and quiet.

The evening air was wonderfully cool, doing a rather excellent job of clearing Maggie's head. Or maybe it was more the smell of delicious pizza wafting up her nostrils _-_ \- it was hard to tell. Either way, within minutes of stepping outside, she felt more collected and more ready to deal with reality head on.

Part of that reality included the Hellgrammites. Their bodies were in cold storage for now and she expected they would later find their way into S.T.A.R. Labs for dissection and analysis. Commissioner Henderson had authorized the release of the information, meaning Maggie had a lunch-date with Lois Lane tomorrow. Their giant insect beasties would be in the Sunday paper and another sort of hell was going to leak out onto the streets.

Metropolis was going to have to learn how to adjust to its new reality or the city was going to self-implode.

Maggie **did** hope that it would mean more credibility for the SCU. More credibility meant more respect. And more respect meant that everyone would start treating them with the seriousness they were due. Hell, once the city government accepted that Metropolis was not going to be the same city by this time next year, the SCU might get better funding, better equipment, more people, and maybe someone could actually find the time in their empty schedule to initiate effective training methods.

They weren't going to survive as they were.

It was a longshot, even as things were right now. It may very well take another disaster on a scale bigger than last year to make the city government wake up and smell the brimstone. And Maggie was not content to sit by and wait for that to happen. She had been pushing since last December and she was going to keep pushing until some actual, satisfactory change arrived down the pipe.

 _Next week, I'll ask the veterans to start making lists of all the improvements they think need to be implemented._ _Anything that appears more than once gets priority._ She decided.

It didn't end at Commissioner Henderson, though, not in a system of accountability. There was a whole committee of people above him who reported to the mayor who, in turn, reported to the county council. The county council was, more or less, beholden to the state government. Maggie might have gotten through to Henderson and she could probably appeal directly to the lower echelons of the state government if the situation got drastic enough. But these changes had to occur at a city level or else they were never going to happen.

She wanted to liken the situation to Russian Roulette, but it really wasn't like that at all. More like... lottery roulette. The scratch card yielded either urushiol or two hundred bucks. Either she would win a small victory or just end up with an itchy rash.

Foosteps on the concrete alerted her to someone's approach and Maggie glanced up, expecting to see one of her team-mates coming to coax her back inside. Instead, it was a strange person who swung an armored fist at her. She threw herself out of the way, hearing the crack of brick and mortar, and feeling the push of air as the fist _just_ missed her.

Her coat fell off her shoulders somewhere mid-roll and she came upright again several feet away. Her attacker straightened up as well amid the hiss of hydraulics. He - or at least that was what Maggie was assuming from the broad body type - was wearing a full-face mask and what looked like some prototype power armor. There was a frame sitting over the chest and shoulders, but it was the arms where most of the work had been done.

The hands were easily double the size of her own and built like pile-drivers. They even pistoned out the same way. The heavily armored fist that had struck the wall retracted inwards, the excess disappearing up the metal sleeves. It stopped still a good foot away from where the hands were usually located on a grown adult. They were very bulky, very heavy-looking, and probably very expensive to make.

 _That_ was well advanced technology and it could have come from anywhere, in the city or out of it.

"Who are you?!" Maggie demanded. Admittedly, she was not expecting an answer from a person wearing a mask.

The man turned to face her, the enormous mechanical fingers curling into ham-like fists. "You can call me 'Barrage'." he said, his voice coming out disguised and robotic.

Without another word, he set about swinging wild roundhouse punches. The first several didn't come anywhere near to making contact, so Maggie suspected that it was a display meant to intimidate her. She backed off anyways, noting that 'Barrage' was between her and the nearest door. There was a side-entrance around the corner, about halfway up the building. Barrage didn't look like he was going to be able to move very fast in that get-up.

But he didn't move like a bar brawler, Maggie realized, as he rushed at her. There was skill in his movements, the measured precision that only came with time and training. The ham-fisted roundhouses had been for display. This was for real.

She didn't even try blocking the punches lobbed at her. That might, at best, break a bone. She back-stepped out of range, weaving back and forth erratically to make her retreat unpredictable. Barrage didn't grunt or growl or in any way display frustration for her constant dodging. No, this man was a professional. There was money in it for him too, if the lieutenant had to make a guess.

A hit man for hire. That would narrow the suspect pool.

She sidestepped another potentially jaw-breaking blow and her hand went automatically for the absent SIG that was normally tucked up against her ribs. But it wasn't there and no one had yet picked it out of the woods by the reservoir.

Nonetheless, Barrage had left quite a few vulnerable areas open on his body.

That is, if Maggie actually wanted to get in range of those power-house brass knuckles he was sporting.

 _Do I really want to risk it or nah?_

She dodged a downward punch that sunk an inch deep into the parking lot's pavement and sent a spiderweb of cracks six inches in every direction.

 _Definitely nah_.

Maggie circled around the attacker and ran for the sally port. It was a five meter sprint to the garage door and she shucked it closed. It was a thick door, bulletproof. She didn't imagine that it would stop Barrage, but it would slow him down.

"Okay, time to see what kind of safety protocols this building has." she muttered to herself.

There was a nasty crunching noise and the metal door erupted outwards as the mechanical fist punched through it. Maggie barely saw it, not even as it clipped her across the forehead. It was a glancing blow but she felt every inch of it across the top of her skull.

The world went blurry around the edges and tilted sickenly. She wasn't entirely sure how she ended up face-first on the concrete, but it was cold and gritty under her cheek. A throb started to pick up in her head and her vision went entirely blurry.

 _Damn, that's gonna be a concussion..._

Barrage's boots trod into her diminishing vision and then there was nothing else.

* * *

Upstairs, the party carried on with everyone trying to show off their dance moves. Lupe was about to break into her best rendition of flamenco when Jones stood up and the music abruptly switched off.

"¡Oye!" Lupe cried.

"Hey, what's the big deal!" Giacoia demanded.

Jones shot him a severe look that made him subside into silence.

"Did any of you hear that? Or just me?" the detective asked.

"Hear what?" Turpin prompted.

"Metal breaking, being torn." Jones replied. "From outside."

Turpin swallowed. "Lieutenant's outside."

Colletta moved first, half dropping her plastic cup and diving to get her shoes back on. Lupe hurried to grab a phone. If one of their own had been attacked, it was imperative to contact the right people immediately.

"You three!" Turpin pointed at Chidester, Lyle, and Steve, since they were standing mostly next to each other. "Go check around the front door! Are our security guys still around?"

"They went home an hour ago." Lupe said.

"Lazy butts." Turpin grumbled. "Kesel, take Mills and Royer and Gordon, and go check the side door out by roll call! You, you, and you! Come with me!"

His final round of pointing singled out Giacoia, McLaughlin, and Jones. Colletta accompanied them anyways as they trooped down the stairs _en masse_ \- one group to the front entrance, the second to the side door, and Turpin's group walked past the holding cells and out into the sally port. And there they found the scene of the crime.

"C'mon, we just got the place." Colletta groaned.

One of the garage doors had been torn off its moorings and sat twisted on the floor. It had two huge dents in it like it had been grabbed, and an equally large hole about six feet up from the bottom. Outside on the ground, they could see Maggie's coat and the half-eaten pizza, left where they had fallen.

"What the hell happened here?" Turpin wondered.

"Is that blood or pizza sauce?" Giacoia asked rhetorically, already striding forward to see. It was blood, but not very much; just enough to suggest that the lieutenant had been clipped by something.

"She wasn't afraid." Jones commented, his eyes half-crossed and a hand held out like he was feeling the air. "Just tense. Cautious. She felt like she had the situation in hand."

McLaughlin blinked and then frowned. "What is he doing?" he asked Colletta.

"Think of it like forensic work, except with emotions instead of trace evidence." the senior officer explained, throwing a companionable arm around his shoulders. "His telepathy means he can pick up emotional echoes. We've seen him do it before; this is just the second time we're actually aware of it."

"So he's like a psychic radar?" McLaughlin guessed.

"And like a psychic _radio_. One with a little dial that you have to get in the sweet spot for the station to come in." Colletta patted his shoulder. "Also, don't think too loudly or project your thoughts, especially your dirty ones. John can't turn off his telepathy any more than you can shut off your ears."

McLaughlin swallowed audibly, glanced at Jones, and privately made a note to screen his own thoughts at work.

"Her attacker was confident. Not overly so. Professional, but no malice. He stayed calm." Jones went on, ignoring everything around him. "He was focused. Lieutenant Sawyer was his target."

"Snatch and grab, then. Round up the team and send them out." Turpin ordered. "This happened less than five minutes ago. We're going to canvas the surrounding blocks, see if there are any witnesses who saw _anything_. Move!"

Colletta pulled McLaughlin back towards the interior door. Giacoia hesitated for a second, but a stern glance from Turpin had him quickly following the other two back inside. When he was gone, Turpin went to collect the lieutenant's coat.

"What do you think the angle was?"

Jones shrugged. "I think the lieutenant's attacker was merely an intermediary. Nothing in his echoes suggest a particular motive. There is a... a sort of ring that I find when one is motivated by a monetary pay-off."

"Hired thug." Turpin grunted. That narrowed down the potential suspect pool. "Well, he hasn't gotten too far yet. We'll find him."

He hoped.

* * *

-0-


	15. Whisper

Chapter Fifteen: Whisper

There was nothing like waking up from unconsciousness with a dull throbbing headache wrapping around one's skull. That was what Maggie became aware of first; a curious band of mild pressure across the crown of her head, like she was wearing a too-tight hat. There was a tacky, sticky feeling of blood drying on her forehead.

The first thing she saw was a fuzzy view of her own knees and she noticed a few scuff marks on the fabric of her slacks. Beyond that, a dusty wooden floor. The smell of dry-rot entered her nose and the sound of stupid chuckling laughter entered her ears.

 _Danger! Danger!_ flashed in the back of her mind and against all warnings from her aching head, her body jerked into action. She didn't get very far, considering that she was tied hand and foot to a metal chair. Her headache gave a slightly stronger throb when her head came up too fast and her vision briefly swirled out in a portrait of abstract colors. They melted away and she was treated to the sight of a run-down apartment living room and six college-aged young adults scattered around Big Belly Burger wrappers and dark glass bottles of something indeterminately bubbly.

"Hey, hey, cop lady's awake." one of the guys noted, rising to his feet.

There was only a single lamp in the corner, so his hair and eye color weren't easy to make out, but he had the gel-spiked hairstyle happening and the sort of face you'd find in a nineties boy band. He and his comrades (two ladies and three other guys) all wore black and red letterman-style jackets mongrammed with pseudonyms on the left breast (pseudonyms because there was no way spiky hair guy was actually named 'Jailhouse').

High-ranking members of the Suicide Kings. Former members, at least; the gang had largely broken up in the last few months. Only the high-ranking members would get the matching jackets.

"How are you feeling, cop lady?" Jailhouse asked, sidling up to her like he was actually concerned. His smile was mocking.

"Concussed." Maggie answered shortly, ignoring her headache so she could level a proper glare. "What did I do to earn attention from Suicide King left-overs?"

Jailhouse shook his head, but smirked. "We're not the Suicide Kings. Not anymore at least. Good call, I guess you recognized the jackets." he added, straightening the lapels. "We should find a new look, guys."

"Yeah, maybe somethin' a little longer. More trench coat aesthetic." agreed the tallest one. The gold threading on his jacket read 'Brazil'. He stood up and walked towards Maggie with a swaying stride. "Y'see cop lady, we're a little... _in between_ at the moment. Looking to form somethin' on our own, negotiatin' terms with some of the smaller cliques on this end. Nothin' solid yet. Right now, we're really more of a... inter-gang co-op."

"Delightful. I'll let the gang-busters back at the station know that you're all learning how to get along." Maggie said dryly. "So how are we playing this one, boys? You didn't pay Hammer Hands just for the pleasure of my company."

"Hammer Hands? Oh, you mean Barrage." Jailhouse nodded, and then shook his head. "Wrong. Other way 'round cop lady. He paid _us_ to ransom you back to the mayor's office."

Brazil nodded. "Think the city'll pay a cool five hundred thousand for you? Are you worth that much to them?"

There was a round of ugly laughter from the former gang members, like it was a particularly good joke.

"You should have asked for the commissioner instead. Even the deputy commissioner is worth more than me." Maggie pointed out. "I'm the commander of the Special Crimes Unit, meaning I'm the equivalent of a very small town sheriff who never gets taken seriously even when the place is being overrun by irradiated lobsters. I'm shocked and flattered you think I'm worth five hundred thousand."

Brazil and Jailhouse shared a surprised look, clearly having not expected to hear a mildly self-deprecating grumble. In their experience, most cops thought too highly of themselves and overstated their importance.

"Well, we'll see what the mayor says about that." Jailhouse decided. He held out a hand and snapped his fingers. "Nutz! Phone!"

Nutz was the skinny string-bean member of the group, with the still oily face and sort of greasy hair complimented by black fingernail polish. He dropped a cheap burner phone into Jailhouse's hand

The city would still pay the ransom, if they could. Maggie knew that. Metropolis didn't like hanging any of its cops out to dry. Lori and the rest of the SCU would scream for it, if only so the latter wouldn't have to attend yet another funeral for one of their own.

Jailhouse dialed the number and waited with a cat-like smile for an answer. Then: "Ah, Madam Mayor! Good evening! Did you get our email? Excellent. Now our terms are very agreeable. In exchange for the safe return of one Lieutenant Margaret Sawyer, we ask for five hundred thousand dollars in unmarked bills to be deposited under the Bronze Bridge no later than midnight. You'll have the lieutenant back safe and sound within half an hour of pick up. Is this acceptable?"

Maggie didn't know if Jailhouse was actually speaking to the mayor, but whoever it was on the other end said something that made the former Suicide King smile even wider.

"We can do that." he said, shuffling a step closer. He held out the phone close to her mouth. "Make a noise, cop lady. They want to know you're alive."

 _Proof of life._ Maggie thought. She cleared her throat and loudly said: "Tell my second to call Lois Lane!"

Jailhouse jerked the phone away quickly, looking offended. "Did you get that?" he asked into the speaker. "Good. As you heard, she's alive and kicking, and she'll stay that way as long as we get our five cee kay by midnight, capice? Excellent. Have a good evening now."

He ended the call and handed the phone back to Nutz, who promptly chucked it out the open window.

"Well cop lady, looks like you're worth that much to the city after all." Jailhouse said, smirking.

 _And if Turpin gets my message, the city won't have to pay after all._ Maggie thought. This was the longest shot she had taken thus far, but Lois Lane did have a rather direct line to Superman.

Hey, if the hero was going to be around, then he might as well be given the opportunity to make a good name for himself.

* * *

Across town, a desk phone rang in the _Daily Planet_.

"Lois Lane speaking. Terrible Turpin, what brings you to my extension? What happened? Really? Who's got the balls to do that? Okay, I'll put up a notice, but I can't make any guarantees about when he sees it."

She hung up the phone.

"Yikes. Hey Smallville, someone is trying to ransom Lieutenant... Sawyer... Where'd he go?"

Though Clark has assuredly been there when Lois had taken the call, he was gone now. It would only take Lois three minutes to realize that he hadn't gone to toilet, but another five months to learn what was actually going on.

* * *

But he would need a few minutes to actually find her. His hearing really was as good as Lane's first article had said, but Maggie needed to give him something to hone in on.

"Considering that we're stuck together for the next five or six hours," the lieutenant started. "Mind telling me why you're still part of the thug life?"

Jailhouse's eyebrows popped up. "What's it to you?"

"Call it idle curiosity." Maggie shrugged, using the moment to feel around the ropes that bound her hands behind her back. "Gigante's lawyers are negotiating for a plea agreement, meaning her plead is guilty. She's going to jail and will be there for the foreseeable future. Most of her lieutenants are scattered. What's stopping you from turning your back and walking away?"

"You wouldn't understand." Jailhouse snapped.

"Try me." Maggie challenged. "Is it fear? Loyalty? Uncertainty? Worried that you'd have nowhere to go if you backed out? Look, if you turn yourselves in and maybe confess to any information on Gigante's network we don't yet have, I'll do my best to ensure equitable treatment for all of you. We can arrange something like community service over jail time. Probation, at least. They'll help you get jobs or getting back into school. You're never too old to start fresh."

And these kids were still quite _young_. Somewhere in the range of eighteen to twenty-two. They should have been in college, living it up in between classes and homework, seeing what the world could offer them.

All four of the guys looked utterly skeptical at every word coming out of her mouth. The eldest-looking _-_ \- his monogrammed threads spelled out 'Zipper' _-_ \- give her an expression of mortification, like she had just suggested self-castration. The two ladies (a brunette and a redhead) also looked doubtful, but in the opposite direction. Not disbelieving her, but like they were seriously looking at their potential futures and not liking what they saw. After a second, the brunette seemed to dismiss the idea of change entirely, but the redhead stood up, marched over to Jailhouse, and told him: "I'm out."

"Ladybug!" he burst out, scandalized. "What the fuck are you talking about?!"

"I'm out." Ladybug repeated, more firmly. "I want out. I'm gettin' out. I been to the doctor an' she said I need to start takin' prenatal supplements, but I ain't got the money anymore to pay for 'em. If Miss Cop says they can do jobs for us, I'm goin' in full. I gotta baby comin' so I gotta do what's best for me now so I can do what's best for her after she's born. I'm out an' you ain't stoppin' me."

"Like hell I can't!" Jailhouse roared.

His pale face turned a spectacular shade of red and a hand dove under his jacket. Ladybug recoiled from that warning sign the second she saw it and Maggie cursed inwardly because she was tied down to a chair and there was nothing she could do. She only caught a glimpse of the gun as it emerged _-_ \- some sleek-looking 9 millimeter _-_ \- but there was a rush of air, a blur of blue and red, and the ropes were suddenly gone like they had never been.

Then Superman was standing there between the barrel of Jailhouse's gun and Ladybug, and holding the younger man's wrist. Jailhouse made squeaking noise and squeezed the trigger reflexively. The bullet smashed into Superman's chest... then pancaked up and fell harmlessly to the floor.

"Waving a gun around a pregnant lady is not something I advise." Superman said calmly, like he was not being repeatedly shot at from less than a foot away. "She wants to make the best decision for her and her baby's future _-_ \- something she can make without your input. If by chance you're the father, it would still be none of your business unless she wants you in on it. Now stop shooting me and apologize for being rude."

The magazine ran empty in twelve shots and then Jailhouse was clicking uselessly on an empty gun. Maggie had read all the eyewitness reports that Superman was bullet-proof, but seeing really was believing, in this case. The bullets had flattened against him like he was covered in body armor. How Superman had stood there and absorbed every single impact without flinching once was a mystery Maggie didn't want to solve.

Jailhouse twitched all over and tugged on his arm a few times like he expected to get his wrist back from Superman's firm grip. Maggie glanced around the room. Brazil and Zipper had drawn 9mm of their own. The brunette lady had picked up something a bit bigger with the frame of a Mauser (turned into the light, her monogrammed jacket read 'Dusty'). Nutz looked hesitant, his hand resting over his jacket where the gun surely was, but he made no move to really reach for it. There was a similar bulge in Ladybug's waistband.

Jailhouse's free hand twitched towards his waist.

"He's got another one!" Maggie shouted, lunging up out of the chair.

She went not for Jailhouse, but for Ladybug, snatching the 9 millimeter out of the younger woman's waistband as Jailhouse brought his second handgun to bear, this time aiming it in Maggie's direction. Superman moved towards her, releasing Jailhouse in the process. The lieutenant spun around on the balls of her feet, facing towards the danger.

For a second, the apartment living room was silent and still. Superman hadn't quite completely jumped in front of Maggie, but his arm was outstretched in a protective gesture and he looked ready to step in front of her if he needed to.

It was a confirmed four against two, but Maggie had made it through odds like this one without a bullet-proof man so she was feeling pretty good about her chances of going home tonight.

"I'm going to make this offer one more time." the lieutenant started. "Anyone who wants out, go wait outside. Turn yourselves in, I'll testify in your favor, and the court will talk alternatives to jail time."

"Exit stage left." Ladybug half-snarled. She flipped both of her middle fingers up at Jailhouse and fellow cronies, and then sauntered out of the crummy little apartment.

In the back, Nutz shifted, biting his lip. Then he lifted the hem of his jacket high and pulled out the handgun. He kept his fingers away from the trigger and laid it carefully on the dining table.

"I'm out too." he declared, making tracks to follow Ladybug out the door.

"Where the hell you goin'?!" Jailhouse demanded.

"Man! That baby might be mine!" Nutz cried, throwing his hands up in exasperation. He didn't say another word, shaking his head at his former comrade's blindness, and disappeared into the dark hallway.

"Any other takers?" Maggie asked.

No one else moved.

"Very well."

She wasn't sure what she would have done to subdue the others, because it only took two seconds to stop mattering. There was a great ***crunch!crunch!bang!*** and Barrage Hulk-smashed his way through the opposite wall. His hydraulic fists turned the cheap plywood into wood chips and he stomped his way into the cruddy apartment. Going by the terror on the former Kings' faces, they hadn't been expecting this Kool-aid Man impression either. Jailhouse and company hastily scattered out of the way, particularly as Barrage didn't look like he was going to wait for them to move.

Barrage had suited up now, mask and all, wearing something that looked like an exo-skeleton. It might have been intended to be a suit of armor, but it lacked exterior covering, showing off the skeleton framework of metal struts, copper wiring, and chugging pistons. The whole thing wheezed and squeaked like un-oiled hinges. Though plainly sophisticated and a cut above the other sorts of power armor Maggie had seen once upon a time, this was clearly still a prototype in many ways.

"Who is that?" Superman asked the lieutenant in an undertone.

"I haven't got a clue. Calls himself 'Barrage'." Maggie replied. "He's all yours, if you want him. Careful though, those punches pack a wallop."

"I think I'll be okay." Superman assured her with a smile that would have been at home on a toothpaste ad.

He turned and collided chest-first with Barrage. The hydraulic fists whirred into gear and pounded hard into Superman's gut. Maggie saw the alien wince and his back bowed outwards with the five blows, until the left fist let out a wheezing grinding noise and stuttered to a halt. The right fist only had one more left in it before it too stuttered and whined, the internal mechanics breaking. Barrage stumbled back, shaking the half-extended fists in frustration. His face was concealed by the mask, but Maggie imagined that his jaw was hanging.

"Sorry, I didn't think that was going to work either." Superman said, shrugging.

He blurred forward into a brief smear of primary colors and yanked something off the back of Barrage's suit. The whirring sound was only apparent as it cycled down and the chugging pistons slowed. Barrage's posture was forced to slouch as the exo-skeleton stopped supporting itself.

"Do you want the battery pack intact, Lieutenant Sawyer?" Superman asked, holding up the gunmetal gray box for her inspection.

"Yeah, it's evidence now." Maggie nodded. The movement sent a dull ripple of pain through her skull. "Superman. You should know I have a concussion. And all that adrenaline is wearing off right about now. My head is really starting to spin."

The nascent superhero peered at her like he didn't quite understand _-_ \- maybe he'd never had a concussion before _-_ \- and then he let out an understanding "oh". He set the battery pack on the table.

"What about him?" he asked, gesturing to Barrage on his way back over.

"That suit looks heavy. I don't think he'll get anywhere in a hurry." Maggie observed. Her headache was starting to come back in full force. "Just make sure the hospital contacts the mayor's office and have someone sent over here to collect this guy and the kids."

She closed her eyes and felt herself starting to sway, but there were strong arms catching her.

Maggie didn't remember much about the trip to the hospital, only that it was short and windy, Superman talked loudly and conversationally about a cow, and that she threw up in the shubbery outside the emergency room doors. The pizza didn't taste as good going the other way. Then it was a pair of pretty nurses easing her down onto a bed, checking her pupils, and asking for basic information. There was a slight pinch of a needle in the crook of her arm and most of the pain went away after a short while.

She didn't exactly pass out after that, but sort of floated in a vague gray haze where she was distantly aware of the world around her. An indeterminate amount of time later, that gray haze was blown away and she returned to full coherency rather suddenly. Her head was starting to feel normal again. There was a numbness up near her hairline where they must have applied a topical anesthetic and stitches. She could feel the tug of medical tape on her skin.

"Evenin', Lieutenant Sawyer."

Maggie's head rolled slowly to her right where James Harper sat on the next bed over. He was dressed in his normal clothes, a pair of crutches leaning on the rail beside him.

"I'm already signed out." he said. "I just thought I'd stick around until you decided to rejoin us."

"How long have I been out?" Maggie wondered.

"It's a little after eight." James told her, meaning a little under an hour. "The rest of the team is here, but you slept through the huge stinkin' argument between Turpin and the desk nurse. Malevolent hag, that one. She wouldn't let Lori up."

Maggie groaned. "I'm gay, not diseased."

"Not according to that old hag." James wrinkled his nose. "When I left, Lupe was ranting in Spanish, Turpin in Yiddish, and Giacoia in Italian. Apparently, Colletta is also fluent in angry Russian. I think it was Russian, at least. It sounded Russian."

The thirty-three year old lieutenant couldn't help a smug smile. The world may have still been quite homophobic and old-fashioned about it, but it was also getting to the point where homophobia was becoming simply unacceptable.

"Obnoxious desk nurse also threatened to call the cops if they didn't leave." James went on, eager to relate the tale. "Since she was not convinced that we were also cops, she did anyways. Commissioner Henderson called back."

"Oh no."

"Oh yes!" James's grin bordered on savage. "I couldn't hear what he was saying, but obnoxious desk nurse turned white, then red, then white again. But she wanted to stick to her guns and still said they weren't allowed up because no one was family. That's when I left and that was twenty minutes ago, so I'm not sure what's happened since."

"Obnoxious desk nurse needs to go for a walk in a field of LEGOs." Maggie grumbled, the bitterest curse she could think of. "My closest family lives in Central City, six hundred miles away."

"Not exactly a quick hop." James agreed. He could sympathise. The rest of the Newsboys couldn't exactly visit him either, since no nurse would believe that all seven of those vastly different-looking children were family. Only Bobbi had managed to slip past the front desk last night to come check on him.

Maggie sat up slowly, one hand bracing her head. It felt oddly loose on her neck, but there was no dizziness or graying vision. She got a moment to steady herself, before many running feet rattled in the corridor outside and then the entirety of the SCU spilled into the room (sans Commander Friedland), with Lori leading the charge and Commissioner Henderson himself bringing up the rear.

"Maggie!"

Lori descended on her girlfriend in a whirlwind of strawberry blonde hair and something inside Maggie unclenched at the sight of the other woman. Lori gathered her up in a slightly strangling embrace and just held her for a moment. Then she withdrew a little, smoothing down the ruffled pixie-cut hair.

"Are you alright?"

Maggie smiled. "Guess I'll be home for a few days." she said.

"There's a superhero in the city now." Turpin commented. "I think a lot more cops are going to start making it home at the end of the day."

"And our lieutenant's just the first." Colletta agreed.

"Speaking of that," Commissioner Henderson parted the human barrier. "I have some news I need to share with you. I was on the phone with the Chicago police super earlier today. _This_ happened before I could tell you the news. There are fifteen cadets set to graduate their academy in four weeks, who have all expressed an interest in moving up to our SCU. Interested in taking them?"

"Fifteen?" Maggie repeated, just to be sure she had heard the number right.

Commissioner Henderson nodded. "Five of them have the qualifications to start immediately as junior detectives. The rest fall into our officer first and second grade categories." he said. "Not outstanding valedictorian level, but good marks all around. The SCU needs these numbers and this fresh blood. I can't force you, but you shouldn't turn it down."

"What makes you think I would ever turn them down?" Maggie asked, somewhat appalled that he would assume that so quickly. "You just said we need the fresh blood and while I'm crazy, I'm not _that_ crazy."

"Then congratulations," Commissioner Henderson held out his hand for her to shake. "Captain Sawyer."

The new title caught her off-guard, as it was the last thing she had expected to hear. In fact, she may not have heard that right, what with the concussion and all. If he had really just said ' _captain_ '...

But the growing expressions of disbelief and delight all over everyone else's faces told her that was exactly what Henderson had said. He had, in fact, just announced her promotion.

 _Captain Sawyer._

She wasn't sure who first let out that triumphant bark of laughter, but Maggie slapped her hand into the commissioner's with a grin so wide and broad it made her cheeks hurt almost instantly and Lori's embrace was properly strangling this time and high-fives were slapped off left and right.

Fifteen new recruits and now she was a _captain_.

This wasn't her being humored. This was her being taken seriously.

 _Finally_.

* * *

Far away from the jubilant celebration of the Special Crimes Unit, Lex Luthor strolled into one of his many off-the-grid laboratories. This one in particular was located outside the city, well away from any would-be prying eyes. Mercy followed a few steps behind, carrying a large case with her.

"How are we doing, Director Ballard?" he asked, taking in the scene before him.

Director Ballard glanced up briefly from his work, where he and an assistant were working to jimmy open the latches on Barrage's immobile exoskeleton.

"Slow progress, Mr Luthor. I didn't design this suit to operate without a battery." he admitted. "I think we'll need a failsafe release in the next version."

Luthor nodded. "How did it hold up, Mr. Karnowsky?"

Barrage, or Karnowsky, snorted. "You're joking, right? I got five hits in, then the hydraulics couldn't take it anymore." he explained, looking down at the half-extended arms. "Superman barely blinked. He felt it, for sure, but it sure as hell didn't do anything to him."

"I think we need to go all the way back to the drawing board on this one, Mr. Luthor." Director Ballard said, working at the shoulder joint. "The battery pack is too exposed, the skeleton is too close to the body. We need a more protective shell for the driver. I've been eyeballing the designs from Mr. Irons, in the tech hardware department. I like what I see."

"Should we bring him on board?" Luthor asked.

"Hate to steal his designs from him." Director Ballard shrugged. "Say we put him in charge, keep him loaded with the responsibility of getting a working prototype on the line. He's not going to notice anything if we don't give him the chance to."

"I think it needs a different power source." Karnowsky offered. "I was getting low battery warnings after two hours. Not gonna be much use if it dies too quick."

"The concern is noted, Mr. Karnowsky. Thank you for your feedback." Luthor said. "Thankfully, I believe we can address the power concern right away. You see, one of my deep research stations in Kansas has stumbled across a rather interesting mineral. Mercy."

The bodyguard put the heavy case on the nearby workbench so Karnowsky and Director Ballard didn't have to strain to see the contents. She undid the snaps and opened the lid. A toxically green glow spilled out of the case.

"That looks radioactive." Karnowsky observed.

"It is, but the level is very low. It would take years of continual exposure before there are any health concerns." Luthor assured them. "As you can see, the case is lead-lined, which contains the radiation nicely."

Mercy closed the case.

"Preliminary testing has shown this rock has the potential to be a long-term power source." Luthor went on. "Even a small chunk could keep a semi-truck on the road for three years. Without diesel. Clean fuel emissions, gentlemen. Of course we need to prove the viability of this mineral in more... stressful conditions before it can make its way onto a wider consumer market."

"Naturally." Director Ballard agreed. He went back to work on the shoulder joint. "Let me know when it's ready for the first stress-test. In the meantime, I have to start looking into make these things more Superman-proof."

"Then I won't take up any more of your valuable time." Luthor said, smiling like a very smug cat. "Have a good night, gentlemen. We're leaving, Mercy."

* * *

When Saturday morning came, Commander Friedland was the only who was expected to come into the office. He grumbled all the way from his warm bed to his favorite coffee shop to the front doors of the building, scowling into his mocha. He bumped a hip against the handicap door opener and let himself in.

The one downside he was starting to see about this department was the paperwork and the fact that he could not foist it off onto any underlings. Lieutenant Sawyer _-_ \- Or rather, _Captain_ Sawyer had had some rather sharp words of rebuke the one time she had caught him doing just that. It showed disrespect, marked him as lazy and irresponsible, and everyone around here was already doing more than their fair share, how _dare_ he make more work for them.

The problem was, Commander Friedland had gotten too used to leaving his paperwork incomplete for the purpose of dumping it on some luckless rookie's desk. But that just didn't fly in the SCU and if he didn't want to take a point for not having his files in order by Monday, then he needed to spend Saturday morning at his desk.

It was a rotten way to spend a fine Saturday morning.

It had actually reached fifty degrees, not a cloud in the sky!

He rode the elevator up to the top floor. The doors dinged open and he stepped out to a rather fine sight. A woman. A very shapely woman with cleavage to lose yourself in. She had long red hair that hung loose to her waist and warm honey-gold eyes. A black blazer and white blouse hugged her buxom chest and slender waist. The matching black skirt was snug around her hips. Scarlet lips and nails painted a very light shade of pink. Her expression was serene and welcoming, and she carried a white leather folder of the highest quality.

"Ma'am." Commander Friedland coughed to clear his throat. "Can I help you?"

"Gray Friedland. My name is Whisper A'Daire." she said in a purring throaty voice that sent a familiar tingle down his spine and all the way to aged parts of his body. "I do believe that **I** can help _you_. I have a business proposition for you that I believe you'll find just as... beneficial to your financial security, as it was under the contract you had with the Gigante family."

"H-How did you _-_ \- I'm not a dirty cop!" Commander Friedland sputtered, but his indiginity was half-hearted.

"Please Commander, we both know that's not true." Whisper said with a charming smile. "I represent the interests of several powerful men who feel that the Special Crimes Unit needs to be limited. You are a man who has been placed in a rather opportunistic position."

She tugged a white envelope out of her cleavage and handed it to him.

"Please consider this payment for simply listening to my offer."

Commander Friedland balanced his coffee on the balustrade of the stairs and thumbed open the envelope. Inside, he found a satisfactory number of crisp fifty dollar bills. He smiled.

"Let's convene to my office and you can tell me what I can expect from this new partnership."

If Whisper's responding smile seemed too wide for her mouth, Commander Friedland didn't comment on it.

* * *

-0-

hurr hurr inter-gang co-op i'm so sublte


	16. Focus

Epilogue: Focus

 _There are nine(9) readers. You are chatting with_ : captain_Planet, hey_Sexylady, oldjoe1959, wristfucker999

oldjoe1959: _SO did any of yOu guys read the Daily planet this morning Did you see the Article on the front paGe_

wristfucker999: _i SAW IT. TAHT WAS WILD. DID U C THE PHOTOS ONLINE?_

oldjoe1959: _i Cant beleive it happENed again_

captain_Planet: _You can't believe what happened again?_

oldjoe1959: _MetahUmanS_

captain_Planet: _That wasn't metahumans. Those were gigantic insects. Nothing to do with metahumans._

wristfucker999: _HOW DO U KNO DID U C IT?_

hey_Sexylady: _i thought they looked like centipedes._

oldjoe1959: _it was MEtahimans Theyre back like everYone said theyd be_

captain_Planet: _Yeah, it's called genetics. And punctuation. Punctuate your sentences joe._

oldjoe1959: _what arw you Saying they were Always coming back to geT revenge aFTEr what everyone did This is only the start Superman will kill us al;_

captain_Planet: _Now you're talking bullshit_.

wristfucker999: HOW DO U KNO THAT SUPREMAN IZN'T GOIN TO KILL US?

believe-the-impossible has joined the chat

There are eight(8) readers

believe-the-impossible: _Cuz he's an actual fucking hero type and that's not what they do._

captain_Planet: _THANK YOU_. _Finally, someone around here with sense. I've been battling idiots like these all night._

wristfucker999: _DID U CALL ME STUPID?_

oldjoe1959: _young lady/sir Ill havE you know i douBLe majored at Palo Alto psuchology and Criminal justice i knoW what im talkInh about Superman iS dangerous_

believe-the-impossible: _How? Really, how? In what way is Superman dangerous? He saved a fucking cat from a fucking tree like yesterday and did that boy scout thing where he helped the elderly across the street. If you want to start slinging shit, go for the right super-powered fuckwad and insult Zoom the Piss-Yellow vomit-bag. He's the one actually being an asshole._

hey_Sexylady: _he seems like a nice guy. not zoom, superman. i think superman is nice._

oldjoe1959: _Hes not nice hes dANgerous Time will show that soon enough All Netahumans are Dangers to Soceity and the Government refuses to do anything aboUt them They shoukd be put down before they can Spread again How do you tjink the Scare happeneD_

captain_Planet: _Millennial here. Enlighten me._

believe-the-impossible: _Seconded. Back it up with sources._

captain_Planet: _Verifiable sources._

captain_Planet: _And punctuation._

There are ten(10) readers

oldjoe1959: _i am a Criminsl Profiler I worked on cases wHere Metahumans were running around Destroying everythinG with their Powers nothing could stop Them it was a disaster they were too Powerful_

oldjoe1959: _superman has all the Characteristics of a Violent Metahuman that nice-ness he shows is reallt just a Mask for the sociopathic behavior all Metahumans Have they have so much POwer and it gpes to their head they Want to be better than normal Humans so they tell themselves that are better than Normal Humans and they Believe it_

oldjoe1959: _Its a diseaSe that causes their Powers it starts to eat into the Important parts of their brain and they loose all Higher Thinking when that happens they revert to their BAse Instints ti kill because there is only a thin liNe between Them and Insanity if their Powers are removed they Return to Normal there are metahumAn who can Steal other metahumans Power_

oldjoe1959: _but they are Dead now the Metahumans know how damgerous the Power Stealers are to tehm and hAd them Killed to protect their so-called Superiority_

wristfucker999: _TAT'S SCURRY DID IT REALLY HAPEN IKE TAHT?_

oldjoe1959: _yes it was the Worst time to be Alive adn normal You didnt know woh was a Traitor to hunanity_

believe-the-impossible: _Im sry, but are you saying that if the Scare had gone on any longer, there would have been a zombie apocalypse?_

wristfucker999: _WANNA KNO HOW MANY ZOMBIES I CAN KIL ON ZOMBIE LAND ONLIME?_

captain_Planet: _Hush wristfucker, the adults are talking._

captain_Planet: _I wish you all could hear how loudly I'm laughing over this. It's hysterical._

captain_Planet sent a PM to believe-the-impossible: _Can you believe this guy? The only part I can believe is the bit about metahumans taking other metahumans' powers._

believe-the-impossible sent a PM to captain_Planet: _Yeah, I work around the police so I heard a lot of rumors about that from the older guys. It's the only thing I believe too._

There are fifteen(15) readers

oldjoe1959: _Laugh if you Want but iT wont be Much Longer Now before supermsn shows his True Colors an threatens Us We must do something now before hE goes mad with unstoPPable power_

oldjoe1959: _sincE he is a NIce Guy hell do it nicelY and pretend To Be A HerO by saVing teh day from disasTers that he created Like that wormhOle from last year you Know he made that HImself so Everyone would thinl he saveD the Day and they all Fell for it like suckeRs_

believe-the-impossible: _Are we still talking about the same superhero?_

oldjoe1959: _sUperman being the World will bring all the old Bad Guys back out adn he will woRk with them to draG us all under_

hey_Sexylady: _but what if superman really is just a nice guy? he hasn't done anything that's actually bad. it sounds like you're just fear-mongering._

oldjoe1959: _ITs the Truth I know what IM talking aBout_

captain_Planet: _I think you're randomly hitting the shift key. Look old man, I live in Metropolis. I was at ground zero for pretty much everything that went down last year and let me tell you some truth about Superman. He's not an asshole. He's not a terrible person. He's not doing this to get his rocks off._

believe-the-impossible: _Everyone around here says Zoom is. Holy fuck I swear he's got a perpetual boner everytime he stops long enough for someone to see him._

captain_Planet: _That's disturbing. But while we're on the subject, let's do a point of comparison._ believe-the-impossible _I think you're the one here who lives in the Gem Cities area. Take it away._

believe-the-impossible: _Central City yeah. Here's the thing. Zoom doesn't give a shit about anyone but himself. He jaywalks, knocks over pedestrians, he's smacked small children for trying to talk to him, is never around when there's actually a problem, and any mess he creates he's never around to help clean up. I mean shit go Rummage the Fairfax Avenue traffic jam!_

There are twenty one(21) readers

believe-the-impossible: _You know what the fuck happened there? Zoom stopped in the middle of fucking intersection for no damn reason and a big-ass semi-truck jack-knifed trying to avoid him! Everyone says he ran off cackling! There's video!_

wristfucker999: _WAT A DICK_

captain_Planet: _And how many traffic accidents has Superman caused, deliberately or otherwise? A big fat stinkin' zero!_

believe-the-impossible: _Not even when you fell out of that chopper?_

captain_Planet: _HOW DID YOU KNOW IT WAS ME_

believe-the-impossible: _You live in Metropolis and you were at ground zero for the weird shit. It wasn't hard to figure it out. There was really only one person other than Superman._

wristfucker999: _WHO R U CAPT'N P?_

captain_Planet: _I don't give out personal information on the internet._

oldjoe1959: _CAn we get back tO the Point Even if sUPerman isnt going to DestroY us his presence in the CIty is dangerous METroplis is in great Danfer from the superVillans who are goigN to come after him for Fun_

captain_Planet: _No arguments there, but some bad guys don't need a hero in their midst to start causing trouble. Sofia Falcone Gigante didn't make plans to wreck Metropolis just because there was some superhero in her face telling her 'no'. Because there wasn't._

believe-the-impossible: _Pretty sure Zoom is his own worst enemy._

believe-the-impossible: _Also, Gotham._

oldjoe1959: _Gotham is a outlier adn shOuld not be Counted_

captain_Planet: _No no, s/he's right. Gotham is a prime example of out of control violence that DID NOT happen in response to a superhero or any other kind of crime fighter. If anything, the crime fighters emerged as a response to the violence. So answer this: Was Sofia Gigante's attempt to level Metropolis a response to Superman's presence or not?_

captain_Planet: _Before you answer, keep in mind that Gigante had this plan in place for years ahead of time and was going to execute it regardless of any superheroes._

wristfucker999: _HOW DO U KNO TAT?_

captain_Planet: _Because she fucking told me all about it._

There are twenty eight(28) readers

oldjoe1959: _you DONt know what youRe talkingabout your not EduCated in The Minds aof the metahunams I owkred on tousnands of cadses for the dePArtment iof amEtahuman effaors trher is som uch i learned from raoding the caser files aNd being out int the sdteets lioeke a EReakl MAN you have nio IDea The thuings I saw you ifnorant kittle baithc_

believe-the-impossible sent a PM to captain_Planet: _I think you seriously pissed him off. Look at how badly he's trying to insult you._

captain_Planet sent a PM to believe-the-impossible: _LOL. He wants to win this argument so bad._

oldjoe1959: _Sueprrman is the most dfanferous man aliove if hNot for his powrsr than fOr his abulity to attraxt other fangetrous mataheumans to The city Mwttropolis you will all idie bgfore This is over I proMise3 you tHAT so donlt you lauGh at ME Yiou styorry little sHuTstsonI wiull reasdtr about youtr dAerath in the newspoaopper And iW iil laaugh becasey I aWill LnoW that you unDeredstimAt3derd the MAne oF Steel._

captain_Planet: _Man of Steel? Hey, I like that. Pretty catchy. Thanks pops, that'll look great on the front page. Bold print and banner headline_ _ **MAN OF STEEL SAVES THE DAY**_.

believe-the-impossible: _I like it!_

There are thirty five(35) readers

captain_Planet: _You have a good day/night now. I have an article to write._

believe-the-impossible: _And I have an actual forensic case file on a metahuman to review. See you around never._

captain_Planet has left the chat.

believe-the-impossible has left the chat.

AlexanderTheGreat has joined the chat

There are thirty eight(38) readers

AlexanderTheGreat: _oldjoe1959 is right. Superman is very dangerous to the general populace of not just Metropolis, but of the entire world. He has such enormous power and we do not know how to stop him._

oldjoe1959: _eXactlY we must dos omethinG to sotp him but hwat_

AlexanderTheGreat: _Now, now, I thought the old guard would still have their creativity and ingenuity. In time, an opportunity will present itself, but we as a people must focus on a solution to deflating public opinion of him. If he loses credibility as a so-called "hero", he may just be encouraged to step down on his own._

AlexanderTheGreat: _Though we cannot rely on that fully, it will help the public to understand that this image of his is heavily inflated by the likes of many news outlets in the city of Metropolis and reporters like the one who just departed, if she is indeed who I believe she is. As the regular movers and shakers of the world, we have an obligation to help protect the world from these all too powerful metahumans. To spread the truth above the lies, to make our voices heard clearly over the din, and bring the superhumans back down to Earth._

AlexanderTheGreat: _There is much to be done. We must begin now._

* * *

-0-

And that's a wrap, folks! This story took almost as long to post as it did to write, so I'm very pleased to get it out of the way. The posting date for Formation has been ball-parked to around early February, but remember: That's an estimate.

All egregious offenses to the English language are deliberate and no, I cannot make this chapter work any other way.

Now I'm off to my NaNo project to drown myself in copious amounts of hot chocolate and self-indulgent space opera nonsense.

oh and yes i did slip a spiders georg meme in there


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